


Lights Never Shine as Bright as in the Movies

by Sena



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Misunderstanding, Pornstars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-12
Updated: 2010-03-11
Packaged: 2017-10-07 22:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 35,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/pseuds/Sena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon Urie's a master's student in music at UNLV who happens to make porn on the side. Spencer Smith's a wilderness photographer who happens to really, really like the online porn Brendon makes. They meet and shenanigans ensue. Also featuring Shane Valdes as Brendon's roommate and owner of his very own online porn site, William Beckett as Las Vegas' bitchiest maitre 'd, Gabe Saporta as a mime waiter, Greta Salpeter as a harried and overworked assistant, and Ryan Ross as himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Brendon throws his arms up over his head and clings tightly to the headboard, gasping and moaning as Travis fucks him hard and deep. He's seeing stars behind his closed eyelids and his hips are rocking uncontrollably and he knows, he just fucking knows he's close. The sounds coming out of his mouth are desperate and he can't hold them back, even when he bites down on his swollen lower lip in an attempt to keep himself quiet.

"Close," he gasps, then whimpers when he feels Travis' large hand wrap around his cock and jerk him in time to his thrusts. "Oh, fuck," he chokes out as his body shudders and he comes, feeling the droplets land on his stomach and chest. Travis keeps stroking him through it, and Brendon keeps shaking, keeps arching up to meet Travis' thrusts, and he's a little disappointed when Travis pulls out and starts jerking off over him. Travis' come pelts his skin, paints him from his cock all the way up to his collarbones, and Brendon gasps for breath and covers his face with his hands and laughs softly.

"Oh, shit," says Travis, crashing down on the best next to him. "Christ, you're a hot fuck," Travis says, and Brendon grins, tipping his head to the side and opening his eyes. Travis is grinning back at him, and Brendon tips his head up for a kiss.

"And we're good," says Shane from behind the camera.

Brendon gives him a thumbs-up and doesn't move, even as Travis gets up and heads towards the shower.

"So, Brendon, this is your seventh video and you've become one of SV's favorite models. You ever think you'd come this far when you did your first solo vid a year ago?"

Brendon opens his eyes and looks at Shane. "Are you still filming?" he asks.

"I'm interviewing you."

"I just got my brains fucked out," Brendon mumbles. "I can't think enough to be interviewed right now. Did you not see the giant dick that was in my ass just a minute ago?"

Shane laughs softly, and Brendon stretches as the camera pans over his body. "How's your ass feel?"

Brendon draws one of his legs up so Shane can see his hole. He slides his fingers over it, can feel how it's stretched and used. "Feels good," he says. He lets his leg drop, then stretches and sits up. "I so need a shower," he tells the camera with a grin.

The shower's nice, but he always wants to sleep after he comes. His thighs are shaky from holding his legs up for so long and after he dries off and dresses, he shuffles into Shane's office and collapses on the black leather couch. He's teased Shane many times about how tacky a black leather couch is in a porn producer's office.

"I'm depressed," he says as Shane comes into the office, cell phone to his ear.

Shane holds up one finger to let Brendon know he needs to hang on, then continues his phone conversation, something about consent forms and the necessity of several forms of ID and blah, blah, blah. Brendon tunes him out and shifts on the couch so he's staring up at Shane's ceiling.

"I'm depressed," he says again once Shane's conversation is over.

"You're not depressed. You're never depressed."

"I'm a little depressed." He sighs to emphasize his point.

"You got home early last night and went right to your room. Date turn out to be shitty?"

Brendon sighs again.

"Do I have to find the guy and beat him up? Because I will. Well, unless he's bigger than me. Is he bigger than me?"

"A little bit, and no, you don't need to beat him up. It wasn't _bad_, it was just really, really boring. Like, there was no connection at all."

"I thought you said he was hot," Shane says, sitting down in front of his computer and clicking a few things.

"He was hot."

"So what's the problem?"

"You're so shallow," Brendon says.

Shane looks up at him and grins brightly. "And?"

"I want there to be an actual connection. Not just, like, a physical one. I want. I don't know. Something."

"We're gay," Shane tells him. "And you know what the best thing about being gay is? We don't have to get fucking married and have kids. We can fuck whoever we want whenever we want."

Brendon shrugs. He and Shane have had this conversation before.

"Don't let society trick you into thinking that you have to find your fucking soul mate to be happy. Soul mates don't exist or, if they do, they're your best friends, not your fucks."

"I don't have any good friends," Brendon tells him. "Except for you."

"Exactly," Shane tells him. "We're soul mates who don't fuck."

Brendon shrugs again and stares up at the ceiling. He doesn't think Shane's right, but sometimes he just gets tired of arguing with him. "Do you mind if I take a nap here?" he asks.

"You know I don't. Want me to put the TV on?"

"Please." Brendon closes his eyes as he hears Shane's television click on. It's just some stupid soap opera, but the background noise lulls him to sleep.

**********

Brendon and Shane had been roommates for over a year when Shane had said, "I think I'm going to start a porn website."

"You have fun with that," Brendon'd said, not looking up from his psychology textbook.

"No, seriously. I love making movies. I love designing websites. I love porn. I'm going to combine all my loves into the best porn site ever and live the dream."

"Mmm-hmm," had been Brendon's only response, and he'd forgotten about it after a while.

He'd forgotten it completely until one day Shane had said, "So, um, I'm going to be making porn in the living room tomorrow."

Brendon had laughed until he realized that Shane was serious. "Wait," he'd said. "You're serious? Like, really serious?"

"Yeah. I got a company set up and I've bought the domain name and I've got a crew and a startup loan."

"Wow. You're. Dude. I thought you were kidding."

Shane had grinned at him. "Serious as a heart attack. Or, really, serious as some hotass UNLV studs jerking off in the living room tomorrow. You can hang out and watch if you want."

Brendon had smirked and shook his head. "No, thanks, I think I'll just hang out at the library all day." He'd still thought it was a ridiculous idea, had thought it would be terrible until two days later when Shane said, "Will you look at a rough cut of the first video?"

Brendon had sat down in front of Shane's computer with a bowl full of veggie stir-fry and low expectations. Ten minutes into the rough cut, he'd said, "Um, yeah, that's. I think I need to go jerk off, now."

"Can I film it?" Shane had asked.

"No. Fuck you. Fuck, that's hot."

The internet had found the videos just as hot as Brendon did, and within six months Shane was doing the porn thing full time with a rotation of seven or eight guys starring in his videos.

"I just filled a void, that's all," he said to Brendon one night over vegan chili. "There just weren't any sites out there catering to guys who like to watch straight college boys fuck each other. It's so obvious, really, the whole straight thing, I'm surprised I got there first."

"It's called 'The Shane Valdes College Spectacular,'" Brendon said. "I think anything with 'spectacular' in the name is automatically queer."

After a year, Shane bought a house that he turned into a studio. He had one of the bedrooms made up to look like a locker room and one made up to look like a frat house and it was ridiculous, really, the kind of bank he was making.

"You should do a video for me," Shane said. He said it a lot, and Brendon usually ignored him. "I mean it. You've got a killer body, you love being naked, you're vocal as hell, you'd be amazing. Just a solo vid. And if you don't like the final cut, I won't put it up."

"If I do one solo vid will you stop bugging me about it?" Brendon had asked.

"Probably not," Shane admitted.

Brendon laughed and grinned at him. He did like being naked, and he liked jerking off, and he was kind of an exhibitionist, so what the hell. "One solo vid," he told Shane. "And then you stop pestering me for at least six months."

"Scout's honor," Shane had said, even though he'd never been a boy scout.

Filming the video had been easy. It was just Shane with a camera, asking Brendon questions about sex and what he liked, how he felt being naked, that sort of thing. Then Brendon had jerked off and put on a show while he did it, like he would with a boyfriend watching him touch himself. It had been easy and had taken less than an afternoon and when he watched the final cut, he'd had to admit that it was hot.

"The copy is lame," Brendon said, looking over Shane's shoulder. _Brendon's the newest stud to join the SV family, and boy are we ever lucky to have him! This seemingly sweet and innocent 21 year-old is a secret horndog who loves to show off for the camera._ "Horndog?" Brendon asked. "Really?"

"The copy's always lame," Shane told him. "Lame copy works on porn sites. What do you think?"

"Post it," Brendon said.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. It was kind of fun, actually. Now I can always tell people I have a dark secret life as a porn star."

All the fan mail had been a nice surprise.

**********

After Brendon wakes up from his nap in Shane's office, he heads to campus to get some practice in before his lessons. He's gone over the last two pages of the Chopin Etude he's working on before he gets distracted because there's an actual marimba in his practice room. He doesn't know whose it is or why it's there, but it's a marimba and it's got mallets just resting there across the keys, taunting him.

He finally gives up on the Chopin and starts to play around on the marimba, nothing in particular, just a sort of ragtime tune he's got in his head that seems to fit with the sound of the instrument. Then he decides to play the Chopin Etude on the marimba, even though he doesn't have all the octaves he needs. It's kind of fun to see how quickly he can rewrite the music in his head as he plays.

He looks up with a grin as the door opens, expecting it to be one of his students. He sometimes loses track of time and they have to come find him. Instead of Katie, though, it's one of the percussion graduate students. Brendon thinks his name is Bob. He's big and blonde and a little bit scary.

"Um," says Brendon, laying the mallets down gently. "So putting a marimba in my practice room? You're practically begging me to play it."

"Show off," says Bob. He says it with a grin, but Brendon's not sure if it's a real grin or the kind meant to mask annoyance. Then he shuts the door again.

Brendon looks at the marimba longingly, but he knows how percussionists are about their instruments, so he goes back to the piano and practices some more. At four o'clock he heads down to the hallway where the undergraduate practice rooms are. He peers into the window of room 131 and sees Katie, one of his freshmen, diligently practicing her sonatina, tongue between her lips.

"You're improving a lot," he tells her, because she is. He winces a little bit as he sits down on the bench next to her to demonstrate the correct fingering, but she doesn't seem to notice. Shane tells him a sore ass is just the price he has to pay for being in porn, and Brendon doesn't really mind. It's not like he's getting any anywhere else.

A little less than a month after the shoot with Travis goes up on the site, Shane says, "You interested in any more work?"

Brendon shrugs. He's got a German test in two days that he's a little worried about.

"One of William's friends is coming in from Chicago next week," Shane explains. "If his solo shoot goes well, he's agreed to try some oral."

Brendon perks up at that. "Is he actually straight or just straight on camera?"

"Actually straight. Actual girlfriend and everything, according to William. Never even gotten a handjob from a guy."

"Nice," says Brendon. He has kind of a thing for blowing straight boys, loves that moment when they stop being so nervous and just give in to how good it feels. "You can totally count me in."

Two days later, he's sitting on one of the fake beds in Shane's house in Summerlin. Brendon fucking loves the fact that Shane's giant porno mansion is in Summerlin, a town where the fifties never ended, they just got more environmentally friendly. He loves that he grew up not ten minutes from where Shane's porn empire is thriving.

He's sitting on the bed next to a guy named Jon who's so adorable, Brendon kind of wants to keep him in his pocket. He's obviously nervous and he's blushing even though Shane's still just setting up the lights.

"So," Brendon says conversationally, lounging back on the bed and propping himself on his elbows. "Here's my advice. Take deep breaths, close your eyes, and think of England."

Jon seems startled by his own laughter. "I, um," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm a little nervous."

"Don't be," says Brendon. "It's just sex."

Jon rolls his eyes. "That's kind of the part I'm worried about."

"You guys getting started without me?" Shane asks from behind the camera.

Brendon grins at him and schools his features into his most innocent expression. "Without you? Never."

The shoot goes well. Jon really is nervous at first, and it takes a few minutes for Brendon to get him hard. Once that hurdle's out of the way, Brendon just closes his eyes and enjoys it. He loves the feel of cock heavy on his tongue, loves the soft noises Jon's trying to keep in. When Brendon takes him down to the root, Jon gasps and says, "Oh God, oh God," over and over again, and from that point his hips start to roll and that's it, the moment Brendon loves, when it stops being about getting filmed with a guy sucking your dick and just turns into Jon enjoying the way Brendon makes him feel.

Jon flies out the next week, too, just for some promo shots for the site, and Brendon's surprised to see his girlfriend smiling and cheerful off to the side, talking cameras and lighting with Shane and giving Jon the thumbs up when he and Brendon get naked in the shower for some stills of them soaping each other up.

_Jon's First Oral_ goes live that night, and Shane takes them out for sushi to celebrate.

"Any regrets?" Brendon asks, bumping Jon's foot with his over green tea ice cream.

"Not really," Jon says. "The only thing I was worried about was Cassie, and she was totally down with it, so." He shrugs.

"My man's so hot," Cassie says, laughing, slinging her arm around Jon's shoulder and kissing him hard on the cheek.

The party continues at Shane and Brendon's house. Brendon makes amazing margaritas, if he does say so himself. He passes out on the couch as Jon and Cassie stumble up the stairs towards the guest room and Shane's disappeared off with God knows who to do God knows what.

When his alarm goes off, Brendon reaches out to hit snooze, but no matter how many times he tries to find the clock, he can't. Then he opens his eyes and realizes it's the phone, not an alarm clock at all.

"Yeah?" Brendon answers, voice thick with sleep.

"One, you're a douche for not letting us know you were coming to Vegas," says the voice on the other end of the line. "And two, you broke Spencer."

"What?" Brendon sits up and rubs his eyes. "What time's it?"

"Four."

"In the morning? Who is this?"

"This is Ryan. Who's this?"

"Brendon, why are you, oh, hey, hold on." He pulls the phone away from his ear and looks at it, then laughs. "This isn't even my phone. Whose phone is this?"

"Jon Walker's. Please tell me you don't know whose phone it is because you just woke up from a giant gay orgy in which Jon Walker participated."

"Um, no. No, I was just asleep on the couch and the phone was on the coffee table. I think Jon and Cassie are probably still asleep in the guest room."

"Cassie's there?" Ryan asks. "Does she know about the gay porn? Please tell me she knows about the gay porn."

"I'm pretty sure she knows," Brendon says. "Who is this and how do you know?"

"Oh, right. I'm Ryan. Jon and I went to DePaul together, and I know about the gay porn because my best friend Spencer is broken. He logged on to his favorite website after a month in Croatia and what does he see? Jon Walker getting a blowjob."

"That was me giving the blowjob," Brendon says brightly.

"This is the best telephone conversation I've ever had in my entire life. Hey, Spencer, I'm talking to the guy who blew Jon on camera right this very second! He's not talking to me," the guy on the phone, Ryan, explains. "I think maybe he's catatonic. It's not every day you get on the computer and find out one of your best friends does gay porn."

"Well, actually," says Brendon, "my best friend runs the website, so I've gotten kind of used to it."

"Good point."

"What was Spencer doing in Croatia?"

"He's a wilderness photographer and he got hired by some magazine to do a really in depth shoot. Apparently, Croatia's fucking gorgeous. Who knew, right?"

"Seriously," says Brendon. He doesn't even know if he's seen a single picture of Croatia.

"Eastern Europe's Florida or some shit like that. It's all tropical with waterfalls, I guess. Anyway, he got home a few days ago, but I guess he didn't really get in any serious private time until last night. I was watching reruns of _America's Next Top Model_\--"

"Oooh, what cycle?"

"Nine."

"That one was so boring, totally not enough cat fights."

"I know, right? And you can't even tell me that Jenah didn't deserve to win. Saleshia's cute, but totally not high fashion. What was I saying? Oh, right, so I'm watching TV and Spencer comes out into the living room and he's shaking and he tells me he just watched a video of Jon, our friend Jon, getting a blowjob. So then of course I had to watch it. Nice technique, by the way."

"Thanks."

"And Spencer's pretty much just been drinking ever since."

"Are you sure he's catatonic and not just drunk?"

"Good point. Hey, Spencer, are you just really drunk or should I call in the mental health professionals?" There's silence for a moment, then Ryan laughs. "He told me there's not enough bleach in the world for his brain and then he snuggled up to my hat rack and went to sleep, so, yeah. Really drunk. Speaking of which, do you know how long Jon's going to be in Vegas?"

"I think they're heading back to Chicago Sunday afternoon."

"Awesome. We're having a party Friday night. Is that tonight or tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow night."

"Good. Spencer will be sober enough by then to get drunk again. We're having a party and tell Jon if he doesn't show up I'll send the link to Pete."

"Should I know who that is?"

"No. Just that if I sent the link to Pete, within 24 hours Jon's grandma will probably have a copy of his entire porn career on VHS hand delivered to her condo in Boca Raton."

"I'll have Jon call you," Brendon says, before they say their goodbyes and Brendon goes back to sleep.

He wakes up again to the scent of coffee. "Heaven, I smell heaven," he says, heaving himself up off the couch and stumbling towards the kitchen. Cassie's standing in front of the coffee maker watching it drip and Jon's slouched at the kitchen table drinking orange juice.

"I hope you don't mind that we totally jacked your kitchen," Cassie says.

Brendon shrugs. "You're making me coffee, that's all that matters. Oh, and Ryan called. He says Jon broke Spencer and if you guys don't show up at his party tomorrow night he's going to send the porn link to Pete."

"You told him about the porn?" Jon asks, looking suddenly very awake.

"No. He called to tell you that Spencer found the porn, which is why he went catatonic and tried to bleach his brain."

"Oh, God," Jon groans, rubbing his hands over his face. "This is why I hate the internet."

"You know they all know about Bill's videos," says Cassie, snatching the coffee pot out of the maker when it's only half full and quickly filling her mug. "Stop acting like it's the end of the world. Pete puts his own amateur porn up online. Big deal."

"Coffee, coffee," Brendon says, making grabby hands for it as Jon groans again and covers his face with his hands.

Brendon's got a pop quiz in Jazz Theory that day, which he thinks he does pretty well on despite still being hungover. Shane takes Jon and Cassie out to see the strip, but Brendon just hangs out at home, fooling around on his keyboard and making a few notations that might turn into something for his composition class.

On Fridays he's got German, Jazz Keyboard, and rehearsals for both Jazz Band and the concert choir, where he's a TA. He doesn't get home until seven, but Shane's left him a bowl of pasta in the fridge and the directions to the party that night.

Brendon thinks that he probably wouldn't have even needed directions, there are so many cars parked on the street in front of Ryan's house. He doesn't know anybody when he walks in, but at least one person knows him.

"Brendon!" cries a skinny dude in a striped vintage shirt and a mustard-yellow corduroy vest. "You came! Hi!" He hugs Brendon tightly, and a pretty blonde laughs and gently tugs him away.

"Ryan's a little drunk," the pretty blonde says. "Hi. I'm Greta, Ryan's secretary."

"Hi," Brendon says, wondering if she means she's his actual secretary or if it's some sort of slang that he's never learned.

"You're not my secretary," Ryan tells her. He looks at Brendon. "She's not my secretary, she's my Greta and she's awesome."

"And you're drunk," says Greta.

"I'm _so_ drunk," says Ryan, still leaning on Brendon for support. "I'm so glad you're here. It's my party and it's my fucking _birthday_ and I'm drunk." He grins at Brendon like he's the happiest he's been in his life.

"I didn't get you a present," Brendon says.

"You made porn with Jon. That's, like, the best present ever. That's the present that will keep giving until the end of time. Wow. I so didn't know my hallway could spin like this. I could totally go for a burrito right now."

"I'm taking you upstairs," says Greta. "Jon and Cassie are out back," she tells Brendon before leading Ryan away.

The patio is strung with Christmas lights, but it still takes Brendon a while to find the far corner where Jon and Cassie are sharing a lounge chair. Cassie's just exhaling a long stream of marijuana smoke, and she grins when she sees Brendon and passes him the joint. Brendon doesn't smoke up on a regular basis, but he's not one to turn down free weed.

It's not until he sits down that he sees Shane in the lounge chair closest to the fence, making out with a slim brunette girl. Brendon squints and tips his head to the side. "Is Shane making out with a guy or a girl?" he asks. It's always hard to tell with Shane, and this particular query is more ambiguous than usual.

"Dude," says Jon. "They've been at it all night."

"He's in my mom's physics class!" wails a guy lying on the brick patio half beneath Jon and Cassie's lounge chair. "He's in _high school_!"

"I'm in _college_," the slim, pretty boy with girl hair breaks away from Shane long enough to say. "I graduated last year."

"You graduated from high school four months ago," the guy says. "I'm going to kill myself."

"You can't kill yourself, sweetie," says Cassie, taking the joint back from Brendon. "It's your birthday."

"My birthday's tomorrow, and what do I have to show for it, huh? I'll be twenty-two, single, living in my best friend's house. I don't even have a car."

"Why don't you have a car?" Jon asks. "You used to have a car."

"Ryan crashed it while I was in Croatia."

"Oh, hey," says Brendon. "You must be Spencer."

"Dude," says Jon. "I don't have any fucking manners. Brendon, this is my friend Spencer. Spencer, this is Brendon."

Spencer lifts his head up from the patio and looks at Brendon for a moment. His eyes are startlingly blue, and Brendon thinks for the first time that beards are maybe one of his turn-ons. Then Spencer groans and drops his head back onto the patio with an audible thud.

"Ow," says Spencer. "Also, I'm killing myself as soon as I get up. I'm drowning myself in the pool."

"I hate to tell you this," says Brendon, looking over at the kidney-shaped hole in the ground. "But your pool's empty."

"I have it drained if I'm leaving town," Spencer explains. "I don't trust Ryan not to fall in."

Brendon thinks it's ridiculous to drain a pool to prevent a grown man from falling in, but neither Jon nor Cassie seem surprised, so he doesn't say anything.

"Look," Jon says, reaching down to touch Spencer's shoulder. "Look, if I'd known that you jerked off to the Shane Valdes College Spectacular on a regular basis, I never would have made a video with them, okay? I didn't try to break your brain on purpose."

"And yet, still broken," Spencer says.

"Maybe we should start a database," Cassie says, curling up against Jon's chest. "We could have everybody list their favorite porn sites and then the rest of us would vow never to work for those sites." She thinks for a moment. "Not that I ever plan on doing porn, but still. Crazier things have happened."

"I have a question," Brendon says, still looking at the empty pool. "If you're worried about Ryan falling in, wouldn't it be more dangerous for him to fall into an empty pool and, like, crack his head open?"

"Augh," Spencer groans, throwing one arm over his eyes. "Now I'm going to have to fence it in."

"Sorry," says Brendon.

"I need more booze. And maybe ice for my head. Ow." Spencer gets up and shuffles back to the house.

"Get me a beer," Jon calls after him. Spencer gives him the finger and keeps walking.

"Hey," says Brendon, squinting at the pretty boy in Shane's lap. "I know you. You're in concert choir. Holy shit, you really are only eighteen."

"Don't judge me," Shane says, running his hand up the pretty boy's leg. "I already feel guilty enough."

Brendon laughs. "No, you don't."

"You're right. I don't."

"You're not putting him in porn, are you?"

"No!" says the pretty boy. Brendon's pretty sure his name is Alex. "My best friend's already done a jerk off thingie, though."

"It's called a solo vid," Shane says.

Alex rolls his eyes. "Whatever. He's jerking off on camera for money. Like, he's my best friend and I love him, but he can be a total whore."

"Hey!" Jon and Brendon chorus.

"I..." Alex says, looking startled. "Um. Oh. _Oh_. You know Shane because of his company. I..." He squints at Brendon. "Holy shit. Aren't you my choir TA?"

"I think we established that a few minutes ago," Brendon says.

"My choir TA does gay porn," Alex says softly. "Holy shit. Everybody would flip out if they knew. Not that I'd tell them."

"Well," says Brendon, "gossip does cause cancer."

"Ball cancer," says Jon, sagely.

"I...that doesn't even make sense," Alex says.

"And yet, men who gossip have a 97% higher chance of getting cancer of the balls," Brendon tells him.

Shane buries his face in Alex's shoulder and laughs silently.

"What? That doesn't even. No. I'm pre-med, and that doesn't even make any sense at all," says Alex.

"No, I read that study," says Cassie. "They did it at, like, Johns Hopkins, right? Something about the hormones that lead men to gossip also give them testicular cancer."

Alex looks confused and a little stricken, and Shane squeezes his hand. "Come on, baby," he says. "Let's go get you another drink."

"That Johns Hopkins shit was golden," Brendon says after Shane and Alex are gone. "Ten bucks he Googles gossip and ball cancer tomorrow."

"Sucker's bet," says Jon. "Spencer's not coming back with my beer, is he?"

"Probably not," says Cassie.

"I'm heading in to get a drink," Brendon says. "I'll bring you one back."

"You're a gentleman and a scholar, sir," says Jon, offering his fist for Brendon to bump.

In the house, _Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough_ is bumping on the stereo and Brendon gets distracted from his quest for liquor by young Michael Jackson's dulcet tones. He dances with two girls for a while, then a relatively cute guy who turns out to have really terrible teeth. He's still bopping along, sliding through the crowd and getting his groove on, when he sees Spencer sitting alone on the far edge of a sofa, drink in hand.

"Keep on with the force don't stop," Brendon sings, shimmying his way over to Spencer. "Don't stop 'til you get enough." He feels a little responsible for Spencer's broken brain, since he was the one in the video with Jon. He thinks maybe a dance or two will get Spencer's mind off it. "How are you not dancing?" he asks. "Dude. Michael Jackson before he went batshit and named his kid Blanket."

Spencer looks up at him with a confused grin. "He named his kid Blanket? Like, like _Blanket_?"

Brendon nods. "Not officially. Officially I think he's Michael Junior or something, but everybody calls him Blanket."

"Like he wasn't already going to need a shit ton of therapy."

"Come on," Brendon says, offering his hand. "It's your birthday party. You should be dancing."

"I don't really dance," Spencer tells him. Just then, the beginning beats of Bobby Brown's _My Prerogative_ start up, and Brendon grabs Spencer's hand.

"You're officially not allowed to sit out any song that falls into the genre of New Jack Swing," Brendon tells him. "It's, like, a law."

Spencer's smiling, which Brendon totally takes as a win, even if he does still look a little confused and suspicious. He lets Brendon pull him to his feet, though, and he kind of hunches his shoulders in like he's self-conscious, but he, well, not quite dances, but he does move along to the beat.

"Come on," Brendon says, putting his hands on Spencer's hips. "Let your backbone slip."

"That sounds like something you'd need to see a doctor about."

Brendon uses his hands to move Spencer's hips, tugs him forward so they move further into the crowd on the makeshift dance floor in what Brendon assumes is the dining room. Every now and then, Spencer forgets to be self-conscious and he actually has good rhythm. Then he seems to remember that he's dancing in public, and he freezes up again. Still, Brendon gets him to dance through Bobby Brown, David Bowie, and even Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers' _Islands in the Stream_.

When he's not being shy about it, Spencer's actually a pretty good dancer. He's also got an amazing smile, the most brilliant smile Brendon's ever seen in his life. When Brendon spins him, he tosses his head back and laughs and his cheeks are pink and it kind of takes Brendon's breath away.

Brendon's totally ready to grind up against him when Missy Elliott's _Get Ur Freak On_ comes on, but Spencer's being self-conscious again and he shakes his head and pulls away, muttering something about a headache.

Brendon reaches around to touch the back of Spencer's head, to make sure he doesn't have a goose egg from when he'd bumped it earlier. Then Spencer tips his head down and Brendon's fingers tangle in Spencer's hair and the kiss is gentle, but Brendon can feel the heat behind it.

Spencer's hands are strong against Brendon's back as he pulls him close. He can feel Spencer's cock half-hard against his hip and Brendon's stomach drops and fills with need.

Spencer's breath is ragged as he presses their foreheads together. "We could," he whispers. "I want..."

Brendon slides his hands beneath the hem of Spencer's shirt. "Me, too. Somewhere private."

"Come on." Spencer takes Brendon's hand and leads him through the party. It's totally obvious what they're going upstairs to do, but Brendon doesn't even care. He just wants Spencer's strong hands on him again.

They get to a bedroom and Spencer shuts the door, then presses Brendon up against it. His beard tickles a little bit as they kiss, but it's not bad. "Kinda soft, actually," Brendon murmurs as he slides his fingers over Spencer's cheek.

Spencer growls a little bit and shoves his thigh between Brendon's legs, and that is most definitely not soft at all. Brendon's hands fist in Spencer's shirt as their mouths meet over and over again. He thinks about saying that they're both wearing too many clothes, but then Spencer's pulling his shirt up and off and kissing at his neck and collarbone and Brendon leans hard against the door for support. He finds Spencer's belt and manages to unbuckle it, and then they're both stumbling towards the bed and getting naked and then kissing again and Spencer's hard cock feels amazing rubbing against his own.

When they fall onto the bed, Spencer turns to catch himself and the strong expanse of his back is too much for Brendon to resist. He kisses the nape of Spencer's neck, then down his spine, nips at his shoulder blades.

"God, oh God," Spencer says over and over again.

Brendon kisses his way down Spencer's back, slides his hands over Spencer's pale, round ass. It feels so good in his hands that he leans down to kiss it, and Spencer shudders. Brendon grins and kisses the top of Spencer's crack, bites down on his left cheek, then kisses the place where he bit. Spencer's hips are rocking against the mattress, but when Brendon spreads his ass and dips his tongue down to flick against his hole, he freezes. He freezes, then he shudders and arches back and groans, "Oh, God," deep in his throat.

Brendon knows encouragement when he hears it, so he positions himself a little better between Spencer's legs and leans down. He licks at Spencer's hole for a while, flat laps of his tongue alternated with little flicks of the tip and the sounds Spencer's making are amazing. He's totally pliant as Brendon shoves one thigh up a little bit for better access. Spencer's moans are soft and desperate, and he turns his face into the mattress to muffle it.

"Don't," Brendon says, sliding his thumb over Spencer's hole. "Wanna hear you."

Spencer gasps when the tip of Brendon's thumb presses inside. "I want," he whispers, arching back into Brendon's touch. "Want you to."

"Mmm, yeah." Brendon kisses the base of Spencer's spine again. "Supplies?"

Spencer props himself up on his elbows, pushes himself forward enough to reach his beside table. He tosses Brendon a full box of condoms and a mostly empty bottle of lube.

What Brendon really wants is to roll on a condom and shove right into Spencer's tight ass. What he does instead, though, is slick his fingers up and slide two inside. Spencer's so hot, so tight around his fingers, it makes Brendon want so much his mouth waters. He tries not to think about what it's going to feel like when he gets his cock inside because Spencer really is tight, probably hasn't had anyone inside him for a while, and Brendon wants to make it just as good for him.

He fucks Spencer with his fingers, licks around them, until Spencer's moaning steadily and rocking his hips in time. Then Brendon pulls away and reaches for the condoms. "Over," he says, one hand on Spencer's hip as he lifts the condom packet to his mouth. He tears it open with his teeth, presses on Spencer's hip again. "On your back. Wanna see your face."

Spencer rolls onto his back, and he's gorgeous, skin flushed pink, sheen of sweat just barely covering his brow. Brendon grins at him as he slides the condom on, and as he presses inside, Spencer's back arches and his eyes close.

Brendon shakes and Spencer says, "It's good. Don't hold back." So Brendon doesn't, fucks into Spencer until they're both trembling and moaning and when Brendon comes, it's so hard that his vision whites out.

He comes to after a moment, less than a minute, belly sticky with Spencer's come, and they lie there panting and gazing at each other for a long time. "Hi," Brendon says eventually, and he knows he's smiling like an idiot but he can't help it.

"Hey," Spencer says softly, reaching out to brush Brendon's hair off his sweaty forehead.

Brendon knows most guys don't like to snuggle after sex, but he moves forward anyway and Spencer doesn't seem to mind, slides his arm over Brendon's shoulders and lets Brendon press up close.

"I'm probably going to sleep for a little while," Brendon says.

"Okay."

Brendon closes his eyes and smiles against Spencer's shoulder as Spencer's fingers trace round, gentle shapes on his skin. He dozes for a little while, never really falling asleep, just drifting in and out. "You're really comfortable," he murmurs, stretching his leg up to drape over Spencer's hips.

"Lots of padding," Spencer says. He sounds sleepy, too.

Brendon turns and bites at Spencer's collarbone to show his disapproval of Spencer's self-deprecation. Then he kisses Spencer's neck, trails the tip of his nose up the beard on Spencer's jaw. "Fuzzy," he murmurs.

"I, uh, I just. I thought I'd try it for a while. I've only had it a few months."

"Sexy," Brendon tells him. They kiss lazily for a while and Brendon's turned on again, but he's not frantic with it. It feels nice to kiss Spencer, to stroke his arms and his back and his ass, to feel Spencer's dick swelling just a little bit against his thigh.

"Can't keep my hands off you," Spencer whispers, and it's true. He never stops touching Brendon, touches his face as they kiss, runs his fingers through Brendon's hair, grips Brendon's hip to pull him closer.

"It's nice," Brendon admits. He loves the way Spencer's hands feel on him.

"How'd you get this?" Spencer asks as his thumb travels over the scar that cuts through Brendon's eyebrow.

"Flipped off a trampoline when I was eleven."

Spencer kisses the scar gently.

"I should probably come up with a cooler story for it, say I almost got eaten by one of the tigers at the Mirage or something."

Spencer smiles sleepily and shakes his head.

"What about you? Got any cool scars?"

"Not cool ones," Spencer says. He stops touching Brendon long enough to show him a jagged line on the heel of his palm. "Tripped over a curb when I lived in Chicago, landed on broken glass. I wasn't even drunk. Just clumsy."

Brendon slides his fingers over the smooth skin of Spencer's scar, then laces their fingers together.

"Do you want to go back to the party?" Spencer asks softly.

Brendon shakes his head. "Not really."

Spencer smiles, then, sleepy and pleased, and Brendon's chest feels tight at the sight of it. He kisses Spencer over and over again, gasps against his mouth and grinds against Spencer's hip. "What do you want?"

"Anything," Spencer whispers. "Doesn't matter."

"Tell me." Brendon kisses Spencer's mouth, his jaw, down his neck. "Tell me what you want."

"Your mouth. Want your mouth on me."

He smiles against Spencer's skin, kisses his collarbones and the hollow of his throat. "Like this? You want my mouth here?"

Spencer sighs brokenly, but he says, "Yeah, I. Anything. Whatever you want to do."

Brendon surges up, kisses Spencer hard and slides his fingers through Spencer's hair. "Tell me," he says again. "Tell me where you want my mouth."

"On my cock," Spencer whispers, eyes closed. He's blushing and Brendon thinks he's so, so beautiful. "Want your mouth on my cock."

"You want me to kiss it?" Brendon asks as he slides slowly downwards. "Lick it? You want me to suck it?"

"Yes. All of that. God."

Spencer's thighs tremble as Brendon takes him in, and he moans softly into his fist until Brendon lifts his head up and whispers, "Want to hear you." Spencer's still quiet after that, but he doesn't try to muffle his moans. Brendon surges up at the last moment to kiss him, and they come nearly simultaneously, rubbing their cocks together.

After that, Brendon sleeps, hard and dreamless, until the early morning, gray light just starting to come in through the curtains. He wakes up a little confused as to why he's got a warm body curled along the length of his back, but as Spencer's fingers stroke lazily over his hip, he remember and smiles. He arches back into Spencer's touch and twists his head back hoping for a kiss. Spencer makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat as Brendon rubs his ass against Spencer's dick, then lifts up and leans down to kiss him.

"Want you to fuck me," Brendon murmurs against Spencer's mouth.

"Yeah," Spencer whispers, fingers tightening on Brendon's hip as he kisses him sleepy slow.

Brendon's entire body aches, his muscles sore and pushed nearly to the point of exhaustion, but he still arches back into every one of Spencer's thrusts, still claws at the sheets and groans steadily as Spencer fucks him, gentle and deliberate.

The next time Brendon wakes up, he's alone. He sits up slowly, rubbing his face, then rakes his hands through his hair and smiles, thinking of the way Spencer had kissed him to sleep after the third time. He finds his clothes strewn around Spencer's room and cautiously opens the bedroom door. On his way to find the stairs, he stops into the bathroom and rinses his mouth out with cool water, tries to smooth his hair down the best he can.

Brendon pauses in the hallway to look at the photographs there. He'd been a little distracted the night before, hadn't even noticed there were pictures on the wall, let alone what they were. There's a photograph of a dark, mossy forest, the face of a barred owl just barely visible, staring straight at the camera from behind moss-covered branches. There's a photograph of a sunrise over a thick pine forest. There's a photograph of a baby gorilla just hanging out on the top of her mother's head, one of trees and a slow moving stream shrouded in mist.

The photographs are all over the house, and Brendon stops to look at most of them as he follows the scent of coffee. "Dude," he says to Cassie, who's standing in front of the coffee maker, watching it drip. "Okay, first of all, I think you might have a caffeine addiction."

"I'm a junkie," Cassie says with a shrug, not taking her eyes off the pot.

"Well, as long as you admit it, I guess. Have you seen the pictures in this place? They're fucking badass."

"Mmm," says Cassie with a nod. "Spencer's amazing."

"Spencer took them? Like, all of them?"

"That's his job. He does wilderness photography for a couple of magazines, does freelance work for conservation companies. Come on, come on," she says to the coffee pot.

"But there was, like, a picture of a fucking cheetah back there. Like, a cheetah looking right at the fucking camera, right at _Spencer_, and he just. He just goes out and chills with vicious carnivores?"

"Mmm," she says with a nod. "And where were you all night? We totally thought you hooked up with somebody when you never came back with Jon's beer."

"Oh. I, um." Despite the fact that he does porn a couple times a year, Brendon's not the type to kiss and tell. "I crashed here."

Just then, the sliding glass door opens and Jon, Ryan, and Spencer stumble in from the back patio. Spencer looks warm and sleep-rumpled and it's been so long since Brendon felt like this, since his heart actually sped up at just the sight of someone. He smiles when he realizes that he has actual butterflies in his stomach.

"Hey," Jon says with a sleepy, stoned smile. "I didn't know you were here, Bden. You totally could have wake and baked with us."

"Oh, my God," says Cassie. "It's like college all over again."

Brendon bites his lip as he looks over at Spencer. He kind of wants to kiss him, at least wants to snuggle up to him or hold his hand or _something_, but with Jon and Cassie and Ryan there, he's not sure if he should. "Hey," he says softly.

Spencer tugs on his hair and pointedly doesn't look at Brendon. "I'll catch you guys later," he says. "I've got a lot of work to catch up on."

"No, hey," says Jon, reaching out to bat at Spencer's arm. "Dude, we need to hang out. Weren't you going to take me and Cassie to that sushi place you like?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I've got some contracts I need to look over or whatever so, um." He shrugs and leaves the kitchen. Brendon looks down at the floor as he hears Spencer's keys jingle, as he hears the front door open and close. The butterflies have turned to a stone in the pit of his stomach and he tries to swallow to make it go away. It doesn't matter. Spencer's just a guy and Brendon will be _fine_.

"What the fuck was that about?" Jon asks. "Like, two minutes ago we were making plans to hang out today."

"It's probably Brendon," Ryan says easily, and Brendon hates him a little bit. "You know he's totally Spencer's favorite porn star in the history of, like, ever."

"Really?" Jon asks.

"Oh, yeah. Like I'll ask him to come hang out with me at a book signing and he'll be all, 'Oh, I can't, there's a new Brendon video up on the site.'"

"Huh," says Jon. "You sure he just doesn't want to come to your book signings? They're kind of dull, man."

Ryan shrugs. "He usually comes when I ask him. He's just, seriously. You should hear him talk about you, 'Oh, Brendon's so gorgeous, oh, Brendon's perfect mouth, oh, why can't I meet a guy like Brendon?' It was fucking hilarious when he saw the video of you with Jon, like, I've never seen him so pale."

"Yeah, hilarious," Brendon whispers. He swallows hard again and tells himself that he only feels like shit because he's hungover, even though he hasn't had anything to drink in over twenty-four hours.

"Ryan," Cassie says softly, ignoring the coffee maker completely in order to put her hand on Ryan's arm. "Hey."

"What?" Ryan asks.

"Remember last year when we had that conversation about you being insensitive?"

"Spencer's not even here," Ryan says. "And if he's going to be such a pussy that he can't even be in the same room with the guy he's jerked off to, like, a million times, then he deserves the shit talk he gets."

"Insensitive," Cassie says again. She cuts a glance towards Brendon and he can tell that she knows. The pity in her eyes just makes him want to die a little bit more. He's had one-night stands before, but this is the first time he's ever been somebody's trophy fuck.

Ryan rolls his eyes. "I'll apologize to Spencer later, okay? Who wants waffles?"

"Waffles," says Jon happily. "Brendon, waffles?"

"Not very hungry," says Brendon, patting his pockets. He's got his phone and his wallet and his keys. "You guys have fun, though."

He ignores Cassie's soft, "Brendon, hey," and heads out the front door. His little red Yaris is the only car still parked on the street, and in the midst of so many giant houses it looks completely out of place. His sunglasses are, thankfully, on the passenger seat, and he slides them on as he starts his car. He can't wait to get back to his neighborhood of normal-sized houses and cookie-cutter apartments, can't wait to shower and get the smell of Spencer off his skin.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he's home and showered, he pushes Shane's bedroom door open, hoping for comfort and snuggles. He stops when he sees Shane still asleep, arm thrown over the bare torso of the boy from the night before. It's weird since Shane usually fucks people at their place so he can get out as soon as he's finished, but whatever. Brendon turns and pulls the door shut behind him. He wishes he could crawl into bed and sleep, but once he's awake for the day he's up until night.

He curls up on the couch and takes out his phone, stares at it for a little while before he calls his mother.

"Hi, sweetheart," she says, and her voice is like a balm, immediately soothing him. "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," he says. "Just calling to hear your voice."

"That's always nice to hear," she says. "Margie Firth, you remember the Firths, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Margie was asking me the other day about when your next recital will be and I told I was pretty sure it wasn't until November, but I wanted to ask to make sure."

"The Jazz Ensemble will be playing next month," he tells her. "The fourteenth."

"October fourteenth," she says, and he can hear her opening the drawer next to the phone in the kitchen, closes his eyes and can see her writing it down in her family calendar. She starts telling him about everything else going on, potlucks and barbecues, birthdays of his cousins and cousins' cousins.

"You're coming to Addison's birthday party on Tuesday, aren't?"

"Of course," he says. Addison's his oldest niece and is about to turn seven.

"She keeps asking about you, wants to make sure you'll be there. I told her you would, but you know how she worries."

"Why does she worry?" he asks, sitting up a little straighter. He's never known Addison to worry.

"She's worried about you," his mother tells him. "She worries because you don't come to church. She's worried about your salvation."

Brendon sighs and rubs his forehead. "Mom."

"I know. I know you don't want to talk about it, but you asked. And since you asked, I'm just going to let you know that we're all worried about you. I pray for you every day, Brendon."

Brendon can feel a headache starting between his eyes. He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I know you don't want to hear it, but I do. So." She's silent for a moment. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy."

"You don't sound happy."

"I had a bad night," he admits. "But usually, I'm happy."

"This life you're living," she says softly, "will never bring you true happiness."

"Mom."

"I mean it. I respect that you're an adult and you think you know your own mind, but this lifestyle of yours--"

"I really can't have this conversation right now."

"You always say that. Just listen to me, all right? Just listen when I tell you that this lifestyle of yours will never do anything but bring you unhappiness and once you realize that, I want you to know that we're here for you, that we won't gloat when you come back, that you'll just be welcomed back with open arms. I even, well, Rachel's made a very good friend at the singles' ward, her name's Natalie--"

"Mom," he snaps.

"I think you'd really like her. I think you should just give it a try. I can call and see if she'll come to Addison's birthday party if you want to meet her."

"I don't want to meet her."

"She's very nice."

"I'm sure she is. She probably deserves more than people trying to set her up with a gay man."

His mother doesn't say anything, and Brendon bites his lower lip as he resists the urge to apologize to her. Instead of telling her that he's sorry, because he's not sorry, he says, "I didn't call to fight with you."

"I know." She sounds soft and sad and Brendon's sorry he called her. He upsets her all the time, he knows that, he just doesn't know how to stop. Lying to her isn't an option. He spent eighteen years lying to her, and telling the truth was ugly and it hurt everyone, but he'd never take it back; he's never wanted to take it back, even when his entire family shut him out of their lives for over a year.

"Do you want me to bring anything for Addison's birthday party?" he asks after a few more minutes of silence.

"She wants you to play the piano for her. So just plan what you're going to play, I guess."

"Okay," he says. He gets up off the couch and heads into the kitchen, opens the cabinet where they keep all their medicines and grabs a bottle of Tylenol. "I'll see you Tuesday, then. Love you."

"Love you, too, sweetheart," she says.

Brendon hangs up and downs three Tylenol, washes them down with water from the tap, then goes back to slump on the couch where he considers calling someone else. The only people he really knows, though, are a few guys from Shane's company that live in Vegas and a couple of people from school. He doesn't know anyone well enough to call them up and tell them that his heart's broken over some retarded boy that he doesn't even know and that he disappoints his mother on a regular basis and he maybe just needs someone to tell him a funny story to take his mind off it.

He flips through channels on the TV and settles for the Home Shopping Network because it makes him brain dead after only three or four minutes, and brain dead is preferable to humiliated and stupid.

After a little while, he hears Shane moving around in his room, but he ignores it and the way Shane and his conquest, Alex, make out all the way from Shane's bedroom to the front door.

Once Alex is gone, Shane hops over the back of the couch and grabs the remote. "What you watching?" he asks.

Brendon shrugs.

"Dude, you would not believe what I did last night. Seriously, that kid? Nnnng." He grins at Brendon and starts flipping the channels. "I mean, he told me he was open minded, but seriously? He did this thing where he was flat on his back and then--"

"I really don't want to hear about the perverted things you got up to last night with a teenager, okay?" Brendon snaps.

Shane puts the remote down and looks at him. "Are you all right? You always want to hear about the perverted things I get up to."

"Well, maybe I just don't feel like it."

Shane looks at the TV, then back at Brendon. "You were watching the shopping network, weren't you?"

Brendon shrugs.

"What happened? The shopping network is, like, your giant cry for help."

"I don't feel like talking about it," Brendon says, still a little mad that Shane and his teenybopper had been in bed together when he'd wanted comfort and snuggles.

"Seriously," Shane says, shifting over and sliding his arm around Brendon's shoulders. "What's going on?"

Brendon shifts until his head is in Shane's lap. He closes his eyes as Shane rubs his back. "I hooked up with a guy and then found out he only wanted to fuck me so that he could say he'd fucked a porn star."

"Oh, shit," Shane says. "I'm so sorry, B."

"Not your fault."

"Still. You want me to go over to his place and beat him up?"

Brendon shakes his head.

"You want me to get one of my IT guys to 'accidentally' put him in the sex offender's database?"

Brendon smiles a little bit, but shakes his head again. "I'll be over it by tomorrow, just, you know. You were asleep with your little piece of ass so I called my mother."

Shane doesn't tell Brendon he's stupid or ask what they talked about. He was there through the worst of it, when Brendon was living in a piece of shit studio apartment where the rats were more reliable than the heat. He knows exactly what goes on when Brendon calls his mother. He just gives Brendon a hug, then asks, "You wanna go to Fatburger and eat seven orders of onion rings?"

"And a root beer float," says Brendon.

"And a root beer float. Of course."

He actually only eats one order of onion rings, plus a veggie burger and a root beer float. He knows he's shitty company, not even complaining when Shane steals an onion ring to dip into the disgusting mess of his chili cheese fat fries.

"I think," Brendon says softly, picking at the remnants of his bun. "I think maybe I'm not going to do another video for a while. I mean I know that they make you good money, just..." he shrugs. "Maybe next year. I don't know."

"Hey," says Shane, slamming down his chocolate shake and dipping his head so he can look into Brendon's eyes. "I don't give a shit if you never do another vid ever in your entire life. I don't give a shit if you decide to start some anti-porn campaign and vilify me on national TV. You're my best friend, all right? I don't want anyone ever doing what they're not comfortable with, and that goes double for you."

"It just feels weird, now."

"You don't have to explain yourself to me. You know I've got your back no matter what."

"I think about and I feel, I don't know. Dirty. Sex has never made me feel dirty, like, not ever."

"This guy really fucked with your head. You liked him, didn't you?"

Brendon nods. The onion rings are sitting heavy in his stomach.

"I seriously want to kick this guy's ass. Tell me who he is so I can at least get him banned from every club in town."

"No. Let's just go home and watch Scooby Doo or something."

"You sure?"

Brendon nods. "I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow. Just. Whatever."

Shane frowns but doesn't argue with him. When they get home, Shane sets up a _Die Hard_ marathon, which Brendon knows is just for his benefit. He lets Shane baby him, though, because watching all the _Die Hard_ movies is much better than watching something Shane likes, which is usually sucidally depressing and made in, like, Finland or some other dreary northern European country.

_Die Hard With a Vengeance_ has just started when Shane gets up and heads into the other room to talk on his phone. Brendon ignores it, since Shane's been texting the whole time, anyway, and he just focuses on how fucking cool Samuel Jackson will always be, despite the horrible misstep that was _Black Snake Moan_.

He turns his head to listen, though, when he hears Shane's voice, soft and fond in a way that Brendon usually only hears directed at small animals, or him when he's sick.

"No, no, I want you to come along," Shane's saying. "It doesn't matter that they're my friends, you totally won't be intruding, not at all. No, I'm totally sure. Yeah, I really want you to come with us."

Brendon turns around and rests his chin on the back of the couch, watching Shane in the kitchen.

"Yeah, okay, yeah, I'll pick you up in half an hour," Shane says, smiling to himself. Brendon's intrigued. Not even when they'd been dating, before they realized they were meant to be friends who didn't sleep together, has Brendon ever seen Shane giddy over someone.

"What's up?" Brendon asks after Shane ends the call.

"Sushi tonight," Shane tells him

"And you're bringing a date?"

Shane shrugs. "It's just that Alex kid," he says dismissively. "Whatever. Get dressed."

Brendon considers putting his contacts in and wearing something that makes him look hot, but in the end he just settles for his glasses, his most comfortable jeans and a dark green shirt.

"I kind of," he says as Shane takes a right out of their neighborhood onto the main road. "Look, me not doing any more vids is stupid. Forget I said anything."

"Nope," says Shane.

"What?"

"Get back to me in a month, okay? You can tell me what you want to do then."

"But--"

"I mean it when I say that I don't want you doing anything you're not comfortable with. You're one of the stars of my site, yeah, but so fucking what? You were my friend first. I'd be a total asshole if I cared more about the money you bring in than the fact that you're unsure right now."

"It's not that I'm unsure, really, just. I don't know. I never thought about it before, the fact that people would think they know who I am just because of what they've seen of me online."

"I wasn't going to schedule you for a shoot until the end of next month, anyway, so you spend some time thinking about it and you let me know, okay?"

"Okay," says Brendon, sliding down in the passenger seat. "Thanks."

Shane makes his way into a neighborhood of mid-sized tract homes, the kind with basketball hoops in the driveways and toys and bikes in the yards. It's kind of like the neighborhood Brendon grew up in and he thinks about calling his mom again to end things on a better note. She's disappointed that he left the church, but the pride shines through in her voice when she talks about his music, and he might be twenty-two but he still wants her approval.

They sit in the driveway for a few minutes and Shane checks the address he wrote down on a slip of paper. "This is the right house, I think," he says. His phone beeps and he reads the text he just got. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me," he says. "We have to go inside so his parents can meet us before they let him come out with us."

Brendon's laugh is sudden and loud. Most of the gloom of earlier is instantly erased. "You're fucking a kid that still lives with his parents?" he asks. "This is awesome."

"Hey," Shane says as Brendon opens the door. "Where are you going?"

"Inside, to meet wee little Alex's parents," Brendon tells him.

"No way. It's not like we're axe murderers. We can just. I don't know. Wait it out."

"Get your ass up and be nice to the little boy's mom," Brendon tells him.

Shane sighs and follows Brendon up to the front door. Alex answers with a nervous smile and ushers them inside. The house smells good, like enchiladas baking, and Alex's parents are sitting in the kitchen.

"This is Shane," Alex says quickly to them. "This is Brendon. These are my parents. Can I go now?"

"You boys won't be drinking tonight, will you?" Alex's mother asks, and Brendon wants to double over with laughter.

"Well, Shane's driving, so of course he won't," he says. "I can't guarantee that I won't have a glass of wine, though, I don't know. I am Alex's concert choir TA, so maybe I shouldn't set a bad example."

Alex's mother nods, like he's passed a test. Brendon is amazing with parents, knows all the right things to say; he spent most of his teenage years lying to his own parents, after all.

Shane's hanging back, staring down at the floor. Brendon considers asking for a glass of water to prolong Shane's torture, but in the end he just shakes Alex's parents' hands and gives them his brightest smile before waving goodbye.

"Oh, God, I am so sorry," Alex says once they're in the car, him in the passenger seat and Brendon sprawled in the back. "They're so embarrassing."

"Nah," says Brendon since he knows Shane has no idea what to say. "They're just parents. They're like that."

Once they get to the restaurant, Brendon keeps his head up, looking for William's tall frame and listening for Gabe's raucous laugh. When he hears his name, he turns and is surprised to see Cassie sitting at a long table next to Jon. Who's sitting next to Spencer.

He considers leaving and getting a cab, but he's not actually a tantrum-prone teenager, so he doesn't. He just sits down across from Cassie and tries to seem like he doesn't have a fucking care in the world.

"Hey," she says softly, and he feels her foot brush against his under the table. "You missed awesome waffles this morning."

Brendon shrugs and looks down at his menu. When the waitress comes by for their drink order, he says, "Sake bomb," without even having to think about it. If he's going to have to sit at a table and make nice with Spencer, he's at least going to get wasted while he does it.

"What's a sake bomb?" Alex whispers to him.

Brendon smiles at him and orders two.

Ryan shows up after the second round of sake bombs. He's wearing a three-piece suit and carrying a feathered hat in his hand. "I want sake bombs," he says as he sits down at the head of the table to Brendon's left and Cassie's right. "Greta, do you want sake bombs?"

"I want to go home," Greta says. Brendon turns to look at her and she's standing in the aisle with her arms crossed over her chest.

"No," says Ryan. "No way. You should eat with us."

"I'm going _home_," she tells him.

Ryan looks honestly bewildered. "But how will I get home?" he asks.

"Spencer will drive you in his rental."

"But I don't like the way Spencer drives as much as the way I like the way you drive," says Ryan.

Greta rolls her eyes. "Good night, Ryan."

Ryan sighs and frowns. Brendon thinks Ryan's one of the strangest people he's ever met. "I crashed Spencer's car a couple weeks ago," he tells Brendon. "It wasn't my fault. The pole was camouflaged."

"Okay," says Brendon since he doesn't know how to respond to that.

"I really like the way Greta drives," Ryan tells him. "She's been driving me around ever since the accident, but I don't think she likes it as much as I do."

"She's your secretary, not your slave," Cassie says, poking at Ryan with her chopsticks.

"Administrative assistant," Ryan corrects. "Although, really, that's a horrible term. I don't know what else to call her. What would you call her?" he asks Brendon.

"I've only met her twice," Brendon says.

"Good point. Hey Spencer, what would you call Greta?"

"A freaking saint to put up with you," Spencer replies.

Ryan sighs. "She's my Greta."

"And what do you do?" Brendon asks.

"Oh," says Ryan. He fidgets with his cuffs. "I'm a writer?" He doesn't seem that sure about it.

"Have you read _Camisado_?" Cassie asks Brendon. "_Northern Downpour_? _Hearts and Wrists_?"

"I..." Brendon nods. _Northern Downpour_ is maybe his favorite book ever. "That's you?" he asks. "Like, you wrote those?"

Ryan nods and gives him a shy smile.

"That's so fucking, I can't," Brendon shakes his head. "No, okay, I read _Northern Downpour_ when I was nineteen years old and it, like, saved my life. All the anger Colin felt, all the family shit he was going through, he was maybe the only person I could relate to and I'll just shut up now because I'm gushing like a spaz."

Ryan's got his head tipped down and he's blushing.

"He loves it," Cassie says in a stage whisper. "Jon, tell Brendon how much Ryan loves it when people gush over his work."

"He loves it," Jon says, nodding. "So Bden, this is my life, right? Right here at this table, this is my life. I go to college and I've got this hella awkward roommate, all elbows and libido. He was emo at the time, just for reference."

"Ryan?" Brendon asks.

"Yeah. Tight jeans, black t-shirts, eyeliner, emo bangs all in his face. So I've got this awkward little roommate and I think that I'll be a nice guy, help him get acclimated to Chicago. Halfway through the semester, his little lesbian best friend has run away from home--"

"I hate you," Spencer says.

"This little lesbian shows up at our door saying she needs a place to crash, and I'm like, hey, I'd love to help you out but, seriously, this is a men's dorm--"

"I hate you so hard."

"Turns out Ryan's lesbian best friend was really just a pretty boy. That's why he has the beard, now, because he's so pretty that everybody thinks he's a lesbian without it."

"Seriously going to stab you with my chopsticks," says Spencer.

Ryan's laughing, "You totally did look like a lesbian."

"They _both_ looked like lesbians," Cassie tells Brendon. "My Women's Studies friends were so disappointed when they found out Ryan and Spencer were boys."

"So we put Spencer up in our dorm room for the last half of the semester, then figure hey, there are three of us, we'll just get an apartment, which we do, which is how long it takes me to figure out that Ryan's writing stories in his journals and this bitch here--"

"Hey," says Spencer.

"Fine. This guy here has been taking, like, hundreds of rolls of film ever since he ran away from Las Vegas at the ripe old age of seventeen and two months. And I'm a year older than Ryan, two years older than Spencer, and I think I'll be the wise older brother figure, help them out. I encourage Ryan to submit some of his stories, I let Spencer use the darkroom at DePaul, and what happens? Ryan gets published and Spencer gets discovered by my photography professor and starts getting freelance work, and me?"

"You got me," says Cassie, leaning in to brush her shoulder against Jon's.

Jon smiles, then, and nods. "Yeah, okay, so I totally got the best deal out of it."

"You're a great photographer, Jon," Spencer says softly, and Brendon kind of resents the sincerity in his voice. It would be easier if he was just an asshole.

"You're a photographer?" Shane asks, suddenly more interested in the conversation than in gazing at little Alex, though they're still holding hands.

Brendon turns towards Ryan as Jon and Spencer and Shane start to get into a conversation about cameras and angles and lighting, and says to Ryan, "So, what are you working on, now?"

Ryan is, apparently, working on a modern fairy tale. He gleefully describes the scene he's working on, and Brendon pushes his plate of sushi away because there seem to be a lot of intestines in Ryan's new book.

Alex is leaning on Brendon's shoulder, listening to Ryan with rapt attention, though he keeps squirming and saying, "Sick," and "gross."

"Maybe a little too much detail?" Ryan asks, hands up in the air as he demonstrates how his protagonist is holding the wolf intestines he's chewing.

"Maybe," Brendon admits. "Although, I don't know anything about writing, so." He shrugs.

"Greta will fix it if it is too graphic," Ryan says confidently. "Greta fixes everything."

"So she's an editor, too?"

Ryan shrugs. "She's my Greta. Who wants more sake bombs?"

"I don't really like sake bombs," Alex admits.

"We'll get you something fruity, baby," Shane says before turning back to the intense conversation he's having with Spencer and Jon.

"Are you even old enough to drink?" Cassie asks him.

"They haven't ID'd me yet," says Alex.

Brendon orders the next round of drinks and tries to tune out Spencer's voice. He can hear it in the background, even over the conversation Ryan and Cassie are having about their desire to bring hats back into fashion. He keeps thinking of Spencer's hands on him and Spencer's moans and Spencer saying, _Want your mouth on me,_ and, _Fuck, you're so beautiful._

"I'm going to go get some air," he says, pushing away from the table. He sits on one of the benches outside and thinks about calling a cab. Then Jon sits down next to him and lights a cigarette.

"You okay?" Jon asks, turning his head and blowing his smoke away from Brendon.

"Yeah. Just maybe too many sake bombs and sushi and wolf guts."

Jon laughs. "Ryan?"

Brendon nods.

"He's really into blood and guts this time around."

They're both quiet for a while as Jon smokes and Brendon gazes up at the opaque white sky. He thinks about moving sometimes, going somewhere he could see stars at night, but Las Vegas feels too much like home.

"I don't know what happened between you and Spence," Jon says softly after a few minutes, "but whatever it is, I hope you don't hold it against me."

Brendon looks at him questioningly.

"Cassie's got an internship at the convention center and we're moving out here next month."

"Really?"

Jon nods. "She just found out for sure this morning, but that's why she came out with me this time, to interview."

"That's awesome."

"It really is. It's a really good opportunity for her, and I've just been working at Starbucks since I graduated, so why not, you know? So whatever happened, we can still be friends, right?"

"I don't actually have many friends," Brendon admits. Its something he rarely says out loud.

Jon smiles and slips his arm around Brendon's shoulder. "Good. You wanna go hotbox Spencer's rental? It'll freak him out."

"Definitely," Brendon says, and follows Jon to the car.

It's a mid-sized sedan, so it takes them a while to completely fill the interior with smoke. By the time they're done, Brendon's sprawled on the backseat, laughing at his hands. He starts playing his Chopin Etude on the air, then sits up and says, "Dude. Dude! You're gonna be here for my next recital! You can save me from my family! And in a non-scary way, because Shane and William and Gabe came to the last recital, and that was awkward."

"I don't know Gabe," says Jon, laughing, "and Shane seems okay, but I grew up with Bill."

"He lets you call him _Bill_?"

"Or Bilvy. He has to. It's a law since we went to middle school together. Hey, hey, Brendon, can you say Irish wist, wait, no, wrist, wristwatch. Irish wist, fuck," he laughs and slumps down in the passenger seat.

"Irish wist, fuck," Brendon laughs, shaking his head. "I want Cheetos."

Brendon doesn't know how long it is before the rest of the group is done with dinner, but eventually Shane opens the back door and peers down at him.

"I see you found something to occupy your time," Shane says with a grin.

"Cheeeeetos," says Brendon.

As Shane's hauling him up out of the car, Brendon hears Spencer cry, "What did you do? Jon, fuck, this is a _rental_ and now it reeks of weed!"

Brendon chuckles into Shane's shoulder and lets himself be led back to their car. Little Alex is sprawled on the ground with his back against Shane's bumper. "Midori sours are _delicious_," he tells Brendon.

"Yes, they are," Brendon agrees as Shane opens the back door and ushers him inside. He crawls across the seat and curls up against the far door. It's really comfortable.

"No, Alex, you go in the front," Shane says as Alex crawls into the back seat next to Brendon. "Fine. Whatever. I can't believe I have to drive your trashed asses back home."

"You smell like really sweet farts," Alex says, leaning against Brendon.

Brendon laughs.

"Why do you smell like really sweet farts? Do you fart marshmallows?"

"I'm a unicorn!" Brendon cries.

"He smells like weed," Shane says as he starts the car.

"Oh," says Alex. "So that's what weed smells like."

"How are you in college?" Brendon asks him.

Alex shrugs. "I'm a good boy."

"And how are you going to get past your parents? They're going to know you're drunk."

"I called them already," Alex tells him. "I told them Shane had a migraine and you had a glass of wine and didn't feel like you should drive so we're taking a cab back to your house and that I'm going to sleep in the guest room and then Shane will drive me back in time for Mass tomorrow morning."

"Oh, my God," Brendon says, laughing. It's a good lie, though, and he kind of admires it.

He thinks about teasing Shane about having Alex spend the night again, but then he gets distracted by the prospect of all the chips he knows are in their pantry.

It's not like he doesn't have the chance to mock Shane, either, since Alex stays over again the next Tuesday. He and Shane are already making out on the couch as Brendon leaves to go to his niece's birthday party that afternoon.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of you coming along to my parents' house and saving me once the proselytizing starts, is there?" he asks. "You know I rely on you to save me from family events."

Alex pulls away from Shane long enough to get a quick breath. His eyes are unfocused and he says, "Wait, what?"

"Have fun with your family," Shane, the bastard, says as he kisses Alex's neck. Brendon rolls his eyes and leaves before they start getting naked.

Brendon's stomach sinks as he pulls onto the street where he grew up. He parks on the street since the driveway is full of minivans and takes a deep breath. He loves and hates visiting his family in equal amounts. He takes deep breath for a few minutes and reminds himself of how rad Addison is and how she'll be upset if he doesn't show, then makes himself get out of the car.

Addison runs at him as soon as he's inside the front door, and he picks her up and swings her around, thankful for the way her laughter eases the tightness in his chest.

"What did you get me?" she asks, jumping up and down. She's wearing a pink dress and pink shoes and a pink tiara and she has pink stars painted on her cheeks.

"Was I supposed to get you something?" he asks.

Her eyes go wide and she cries, "It's my birthday! You have to buy me things on my birthday!"

Brendon laughs and picks up the package he'd set down when he'd seen her running at him. "Happy birthday," he says.

Addison snatches the present from him. "Can I open it right now?"

"No. Put it with the others."

She sighs and pouts, but does as she's told, then drags Brendon out to the back yard where his sister-in-law is painting kids' faces. Brendon gets a pretty bitching dinosaur on his cheek, then leaves the kids to run around while he heads inside for food.

"I see they got you, too," says his oldest brother, Michael, as Brendon starts piling up a paper plate with green bean casserole and Jell-o salad.

"I think mines a little manlier than yours," Brendon tells him. Michael's got a purple ladybug on his cheek.

"Dad's got a butterfly," Michael tells him.

Brendon laughs. "He does not."

"He does. Addison picked it out especially for him."

Brendon laughs again. "That's so awesome. I hope you have pictures."

"Oh, yeah. I'll email them to you tomorrow." Michael fiddles with the Sprite in his hand, then says. "So, um, just as a heads up, Mom invited one of Rachel's friends."

Brendon sighs and closes his eyes. "I told her not to."

"Rachel assured me that she's been briefed on the whole, um, orientation issue so you won't have to be the one to let her know you're not interested, but Mom's still going to try and set you up."

"Awesome," says Brendon, nodding. He wishes he could have a beer. He wishes he would have thought to do a couple of shots before he came over.

He really, really wishes he had a drink when his mother introduces him to his sister's friend, Natalie, who looks at him like he's two seconds away from sucking cock in public.

"Your friend's kind of a bitch," he says later, sitting down next to Rachel as they all gather to watch Addison open her presents.

"She's just never met anybody gay before," Rachel says, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"How is that even possible? Did you color your hair?"

"Just some highlights. She's from Heber. She just got here, like, two months ago."

"Hmm. It looks good on you."

"Thanks."

Addison announces that she's opening her presents so they all settle down to watch her. Brendon's secretly pleased when she opens his present and squeals in delight. It's a pink digital camera for kids, totally waterproof and tough enough that it won't break if Addison drops it.

"It's awesome!" Addison cries, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him so hard he chokes a little bit.

"I thought you'd like it," he says as he eases her shoulder off his trachea. "I put batteries in it so you can start taking pictures right away."

"You spoil her," Lenah, his sister-in-law, says with a grin as Addison runs around taking pictures of the floor and her presents and everybody in the room.

"It's my job as an uncle," he says with a shrug, then grins ridiculously huge as Addison holds up her camera and tells him to smile.

Before it's time for cake, Addison drags Brendon over to the piano and makes him play her songs that she and her friends can dance to. "We're ballerinas," she tells him, "so play us pretty music."

Brendon does as he's told, plays Saint-Saens' _The Swan_ and a few more pieces from _Carnival of the Animals_, some Lizst, finishes off with Brahms' _Hungarian Dance in G Minor_ so the girls can jump around and giggle.

It actually ends up being a really good night. Nobody mentions praying for him even once, and after it becomes abundantly clear to her that Natalie wants nothing to do with Brendon, his mother drops her overly-cheerful matchmaker act and instead feeds him cake and makes sure he does his stretches so his arms don't get sore.

Brendon gets home to the sound of Shane and Alex moaning from Shane's bedroom, and he rolls his eyes and puts on his headphones so he won't have to hear it.

"You really like that kid," he says to Shane later the next day.

Shane shrugs. "Whatever."

"He's stayed over, like, twice already. Isn't that a record?"

"Go fuck yourself," Shane tells him, but he says it with a grin and he doesn't deny liking Alex.

On Friday morning, Alex is sitting at the kitchen table when Brendon wanders in for cereal and coffee. Brendon makes a point to look at the clock. "Dude, it's eight thirty," he says. "Aren't you late for first period?"

"I'm in _college_," Alex says, frowning. "Which you know because you're my TA for choir."

"Oh, right," Brendon says with a grin.

"Stop pulling my boyfriend's pigtails," Shane says, serving up two plates of chile relleno omelets.

"Where's mine?" Brendon asks.

"You can make your own breakfast."

Brendon frowns, then grins. "Shane? Did you just call wee little Alex here your boyfriend?"

Shane pauses, then looks over at Brendon, seeming shocked by the idea. "I, uh," he says.

Alex kicks Brendon's foot. "What else would he call me?"

"The hot little eighteen year old piece of ass he's been tapping," says Brendon. "But you haven't even, I don't even know what the two of you do in bed."

"Because it's _private_," Alex says, as if that's obvious.

"It's not," Shane says, flustered. "We're just. I. Go away."

Brendon laughs and snags a box of cereal from off the top of the fridge. He's munching on it happily as he heads back to his own room, singing, "Shane has a boyfriend, Shane has a boyfriend..."

"So tell me," Brendon says conversationally as he lounges on the chair in Shane's office later that day. "What's it like to tap that sweet little teenage ass?"

"Oh, man," says Shane, running his fingers through his hair. "He does _yoga_."

"I do yoga."

"He's even bendier than you. He can do this thing where he, um." Shane frowns.

Brendon grins at him and waits patiently.

"Okay, so the other night we were, um."

Brendon swings his legs over the arm of the chair and continues to wait.

"I should be able to tell you this, B. This is like, fuck. I make porn for a living, all right? I should be able to tell you about the sex I'm having without it feeling weird."

"But it feels weird, doesn't it?"

"It's like I _can't_ tell you. Like, I'm thinking of what to say and it just won't come out of my mouth."

Brendon laughs.

"Why is that funny?"

"Because you're falling in love with him, dipshit."

"I am not," Shane says, straightening up in his desk chair. "I don't. I haven't ever. Fuck. Fuck, is that what this is?"

Brendon nods.

"Jesus Christ. I'm ruined."

"I think it's kind of sweet."

"It's not sweet," Shane says. "It's...fucking terrifying."

Brendon smiles at him. "Welcome to the world of grown up emotions. You're going to have lots of fun here."

"I need a drink."

Brendon expects Shane just to grab a beer, but instead he tells Brendon he's heading out to a bar. "You should come with me," Shane says.

"You're not afraid of going somewhere your boyfriend won't be allowed in?" Brendon asks.

Shane frowns. "Look, do you want to come to the bar with me and Spencer or not?"

Brendon just looks at him, stunned.

"What?" Shane asks.

"Spencer Spencer? Like, Jon's Spencer? What the fuck? How are you guys even friends?"

"He's a photographer," Shane says. "I'm a photographer. We have a lot of shit in common. He said he'd look at that documentary I did about the ranchers in Snake Valley, says he knows a few groups into water conservation that might be interested in helping me get it distributed."

Brendon doesn't even know what to say to that.

"What?" Shane asks.

"Nothing," says Brendon. "I have rehearsal, anyway."

"Okay," says Shane, as if it's Brendon's loss. It's on the tip of Brendon's tongue to tell Shane the truth, to tell him that it was his precious wildlife photographer friend, Spencer, that fucked him and ditched out like he was nothing, but he doesn't. His pride keeps him from saying anything, and instead he just gets ready for his Jazz Ensemble rehearsal and makes a few notations for his small group in concert choir.

It seems like every night Shane's not fucking Alex, he's talking photography with Spencer, and it's annoying as hell. One afternoon when he's running off to hang out with super awesome Spencer and talk about super awesome Spencer stuff, Brendon snuggles down onto the couch and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Have fun with Spencer, since he's so fucking awesome," Brendon mutters under his breath as Shane leaves. He's surprised when Alex sits down next to him. "Why are you still here?" he asks. "You're not going to go hang out with your boyfriend and his new best friend?"

"And listen to them talk about cameras all day?" Alex asks. "No. They get into these ridiculous conversations about f-stops and lenses and filters and film versus digital and it's really boring." He stretches and scratches the back of his head sleepily. "You wanna go get coffee?"

Brendon raises one eyebrow at him.

"Are you always this much of a grouch or is this just what jealousy does to you?"

"Who am I jealous of?" Brendon demands.

"Spencer, because he's stealing all your best friend time."

"Well," says Brendon. "Yeah, okay. But just a little bit."

"I need coffee and food," says Alex. "And I need you to tell me how to survive Miller's theory class."

Brendon laughs at that. "You just grit your teeth and hold on, and in a semester it'll be over."

"No, really, it's killing me and I've never gotten lower than an A in my life. Ever."

"Why are you taking music theory, anyway? I thought you were pre-med."

Alex tugs on his hair. "Okay. So _technically_ I'm pre-med. I mean. I am. Just. My parents want me to be pre-med and I like it, mostly, but." He shrugs and sits down next to Brendon on the couch. "My parents are awesome, don't get me wrong. They just want so much for me that I don't really want." He lets out a long breath, like that was hard to say. "You don't know what it's like," he says, "wanting something so bad but knowing if you go after it, you have to go against everything your family's ever wanted for you."

Brendon smiles sadly and shakes his head. "Fuck coffee," he says. "For this conversation, we need beer."

An hour later, Alex is finishing up his last slice of pizza and there's a case of empties around them. "I didn't even know you could order pizza at ten in the morning," he admits.

"You have much to learn, young padawan."

"Did I drink this much beer?" Alex asks, looking at the bottles on the coffee table and the floor. "That's a lot of beer. If I drank this much beer, you should probably take me to the hospital."

"I drank most of it."

"Okay. Good."

"Your parents," Brendon says, starting up a conversation from ten minutes earlier. "Look, parents aren't bad people. I suppose they could be, but yours don't sound bad. My parents aren't bad people. They want what's best for you but it's hard for them to realize that what's really best for you is to make your own decisions."

"Exactly," says Alex. "Like, okay, so I want to be a musician. That's not horrible, is it?"

"Your asking a music major that question?"

"It's not horrible! So they won't be able to talk about their son the doctor, so maybe I won't make very much money, I just. I love performing. I love it so much and they just, they're like okay, take choir as an elective, but." He sighs. "What did your parents want you to be?"

"A straight Mormon."

"Oh. Shit."

"Yeah. The whole musician thing is way down on their list of ways I've disappointed them."

"Do they know about the porn?"

Brendon laughs and shakes his head. "They'd have to acknowledge the fact that I'm gay, first."

"I'm lucky, I know I'm lucky." Alex tells him. "I mean, when I came out they were upset and thought that I was fourteen and didn't know what the hell I was talking about, but they're really supportive, now. They even want Shane to come to Sunday dinner."

Brendon laughs again.

"Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Laugh when I say stuff like that, about me and Shane."

"Because in the entire time I've known him, Shane's never dated anyone for longer than three days. Watching him fall for you is amusing."

Alex tugs on his hair. "You really think he's falling for me?"

"I think he already fell. And he hit the ground hard. There's, like, a giant crater where he hit the earth, like that meteor site in Arizona."

Alex leans back against the couch and smiles happily. He reaches his leg out and kicks against Brendon's foot. "Now you need a boyfriend."

Brendon rolls his eyes.

"Don't tell me you've never dated anyone for longer than three days, either."

"No, I have." Brendon shrugs. "I just don't have good luck. The last guy I slept with wouldn't even look me in the eye the next morning. He only fucked me because of the porn site, so he could say he'd fucked a porn star."

"That sucks," says Alex.

"And it's stupid, right? That I can't stop thinking about him because obviously he's an asshole, but I felt like." He shakes his head.

"What? You felt like what?"

"Like we connected. I know that's lame."

"No," says Alex. "No way. When I met Shane, it was like I just knew. And I wasn't looking for it at all, especially with him. I mean, the guy who's going to film my best friend jerking off and post it on the internet? He's totally not who I expected to fall for, but I did and it's amazing, what he and I have." He sips his beer, then frowns. "My beer drank itself," he says.

"We have rum," says Brendon, pushing himself up and heading to the kitchen on unsteady legs.

"Is it flavored?" Alex calls after him.

"Fuck flavored rum," says Brendon. He thinks about that for a moment. "Except for Malibu. That shit in Coke with fresh lime is awesome." Since they don't have fresh limes in the house, he settles for plain rum with regular Coke. "And fuck Spencer," he says, coming back into the living room with two glasses of coke with liberal splashes of rum in them. "I hope Spencer dies in a fire."

Alex looks concerned. "Just because he's stealing your best friend time with Shane--"

"Oh, my God," says Brendon. "How is Cassie the only one who's figured out that Spencer's the one who used me as a total trophy fuck?"

"Wait," says Alex. "The guy you were just talking about, that's _Spencer_?"

"Ding, ding, ding," says Brendon. "Give the boy a prize."

"Does Shane know?"

"No. And you're not telling him. He can be friends with a fucktard for all I care. Fuck Spencer Smith."

Alex takes a big gulp of his rum and Coke, then coughs. "That's really strong."

"Man up, pussy."

"What if he's only being friends with Shane so he can get _more_ trophy fucks?" Alex asks. "What if he wants to trophy fuck everyone on the entire site?"

That's something Brendon honestly hadn't ever considered before. "We should tell Shane," he says.

Alex nods and takes another swig of alcoholic cola. "We need to tell Shane. It's, like, so important. Oh, my God. There are so many beer bottles on the floor right now, it's hilarious."

Brendon looks around and nods, laughing, then pulls out his phone so he can send drunken photos of him and Alex to Twitpic.

It's much, much later when Shane gets home. "Are you drunk?" Shane asks, leaning forward to peer at Brendon's face. "You are. You're totally drunk at two in the afternoon."

"We're sobering up," Brendon tells him.

"Who's we?"

Brendon points to the bathroom as the sounds of retching travel down the hall. "Your boyfriend can't really hold his rum."

"You got Alex drunk?" Shane asks, running his fingers through his hair. "He's eighteen!"

"Hey, I just gave him beer. And rum. And maybe some tequila. It's not like I fucked him in the bathroom of a Del Taco which, by the way, is probably against health code."

"He told you about that?"

"We bonded."

"Awesome," says Shane with a sigh.

The next day, Alex announces that he and Brendon are no longer allowed to bond by drinking alcohol. "It's not like Shane said we couldn't," he clarifies. "Just. I think I might die if I eat anything today, and my metabolism's really high, so I'm a little afraid that I might die of starvation."

Brendon agrees because little Alex can't hold his liquor, and Shane was a little cranky that he'd had to spend the entire night holding his boyfriend's hair back while he puked.

The next time Alex wants to bond, they go shopping. "There's a sale at Forever 21," Alex tells him excitedly. Brendon tries to pretend he doesn't care but, well. He does love Forever 21 kind of a lot.

Brendon sighs as he walks into the store. He knows that the bright colors and the upbeat sales associates should cheer him up, they usually do, but he's not feeling it.

"Look," says Alex happily. "Scarves!"

Brendon follows Alex to the accessories section and watches as Alex tries on twenty different plaid scarves. "What about this one?" Alex asks, turning to show Brendon the dark gray and purple plaid scarf he has wrapped around his neck.

Brendon shrugs. "I don't know," he says.

Alex sighs. "You're not still thinking about Spencer, are you? Because you're not allowed. We're _shopping_, Brendon. This is, like, sacred friend time. We're bonding!"

Brendon shrugs again and fingers an obnoxious gold plate and rhinestone necklace.

"I mean it. You're Shane's best friend and I want to get along with you. I want to be able to hang out with you guys and not just be Shane's annoying little boyfriend."

"You're not," Brendon says, because he's kind of growing fond of the kid. "I don't know. I'm just not feeling it."

Alex shakes his head and pulls Brendon over to the sunglasses. "You are required, by law, to buy a pair of sunglasses today."

"I have sunglasses," Brendon says, gesturing to where they're sitting on the top of his head.

"Sure. Boring sunglasses. You need douchebag sunglasses. Douchebag sunglasses make any day brighter." He plucks a pair of fluorescent pink aviators off the rack and slides them onto Brendon's face. "See?"

Brendon ducks down a little bit so he can see himself in the mirror. He smiles almost against his will because he looks ridiculous. "Not aviators," he says. "Plus, these have a weird point at the bottom. What about those?" He picks up a pair of dark green giant sunglasses, the lenses and frames perfect circles. "Do I look too much like a bug in these?"

Alex tips his head to the side and considers it. "No, but they're not awesome. Keep going."

In the end, Brendon decides on a pair of white Wayfarer knock-offs and a pair of bright blue Jackie-O glasses for Shane.

"Let me give them to him," Alex says, taking the Jackie-O sunglasses from Brendon's hands. "He won't wear them if you give them to him, but he does anything I want."

Brendon laughs out loud. "You little shit. And here I thought you had no idea of the effect you had on him."

Alex ducks his head down. "Um. Maybe I just pretend I don't know the effect I have on him."

Brendon laughs again. "You are now officially my favorite person in the entire world, just so you know."

"Thanks," says Alex, and they shuffle over towards the headbands. Brendon tries on most of them and wonders aloud if he can pull off the giant fuschia flower with black netting.

Alex shakes his head. "Kitsch is one thing, but that's taking it too far. But I think you should totally try on those rose wristbands."

After the accessories section, they head upstairs where Alex picks out seven different jeans to try on and nearly twenty shirts.

"Um," says the sales associate as he heads into the fitting room. "You know those are from the juniors section, right? Like, _girls_ juniors?"__

Alex looks at her, blinking guilessly. "And?" he asks sweetly. He really is officially Brendon's new favorite person.

After Alex beats Forever 21 into submission and drags it home by its hair, they stop by the food court for smoothies. "What do you think I should get Shane for our two month anniversary?" he asks as they sip their smoothies and stroll back to the car. Brendon's enjoying his white plastic douchebag sunglasses kind of a lot.

"Don't you mean two _week_ anniversary?" Brendon asks. "Or are you, like, planning this shit a month and a half in advance?"

"We've been dating for two months," Alex says. "We met when Cash did his first solo vid."

Brendon stops and looks over at Alex. "Huh," he says.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Just. I don't. You and Shane have been, like, actually _dating_ for two months or you met two months ago?"

"Dating," Alex says.

Brendon doesn't know how to say it without sounding rude. "But you didn't hook up until the night of Ryan and Spencer's party."

Alex rolls his eyes. "I didn't spend the night until the night of Ryan and Spencer's party. I'm not actually a little kid, you know. I do know what dating is. We went to movies and out to eat and stuff, and sometimes I blew him in his car, whatever. But not, like, until the fourth date, not because I have any hard and fast rule about when it's too early to do sex stuff, just because I didn't know for sure that I wanted to have sex with him until the fourth date."

"Holy fucking shit," says Brendon. "I don't even. He didn't say shit to me about it."

Alex looks a little crestfallen at that. "He didn't?"

"Hey," says Brendon, reaching out to touch his arm. "You haven't known him for that long, so you don't know how weird this is for him. I'm not fucking kidding when I tell you that I've never known him to call a guy back after the first date, especially if the guy didn't put out. The fact that he waited, like, a month and a half to fuck you? That's _insane_. That's, like, devotion or some shit. Wow. I might have to sit down."

Alex sits down next to him on the bench just outside the mall entrance. "And, um," he says. "If we're going to talk about each other's love lives, I think you should talk to Spencer."

Brendon rolls his eyes.

"No. I mean it. I've gotten to know him from hanging out with him and Shane and I don't think he's the kind of guy you think he is."

"Please," says Brendon. "You weren't there, okay? He can put on a good face, but I was the one standing there in the kitchen thinking, like, fucking romantic thoughts about him before I realized that he wouldn't even look at me. Not that he wouldn't even look me in the eye, but he wouldn't even look at me, like he was trying to pretend I wasn't there. I don't need that kind of shit in my life, Alex."

"He's not a bad guy, he's just--"

"No," Brendon says sharply, and his tone of voice must be convincing because Alex doesn't bring it up again. Not until one afternoon when Brendon's sitting at his desk studying Jazz Theory and he hears a familiar voice say, "The first or second door on the right?"

"Second," Alex calls. And then Brendon's bedroom door opens because his room is the second on the right.

"This isn't the bathroom," Spencer says, stuffing his hands into his pockets awkwardly.

"That would be the first door on the left," says Brendon.

"Right," says Spencer, nodding. "So I'll just--" Then he stumbles forward, into Brendon's room and Brendon just catches sight of Alex before his door slams shut.

"Ow," says Spencer, reaching back to rub the small of his back where Alex had shoved him forward.

"Don't be mad at me," Alex says from the other side of the door.

Brendon sighs and rolls his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Alex."

There's a heavy clunk against Brendon's door, and then Alex's voice again. "You have to talk, okay? Because neither one of you will listen to me when I try to talk."

Brendon gets up and strides across the room. "Are you even fucking kidding me?" he demands, trying the doorknob. "You locked us in? Alex, I swear to fuck--"

"You need to talk," Alex says from the other side of the door. "I'm going outside now to sit with Shane on the patio. I'll be back in twenty minutes to see if you've made any progress."

"Alex!" Brendon shouts, banging on the door. "I'm going to shave your fucking head while you sleep!"

There's no response, and Brendon tries the door again. "I think that little fucker jammed a chair under the knob or something," he says. "Seriously? What grade are we in again?"

Spencer doesn't say anything, he just sighs and sits down on the foot of Brendon's bed.


	3. Chapter 3

Brendon shakes the doorknob and pounds on the door a few times, but there's no response from the hallway. "I'd say we could climb out the window, but it's barred. We should start a fire and burn to death just to make him feel bad."

"That's an awesome idea," says Spencer. "Is burning to death really preferable to spending twenty minutes in a room with me?"

Brendon leans against the door and looks at Spencer. He crosses his arms. "Maybe."

"Because I'm pretty sure being on fire really hurts. Like, a lot."

"Well, you hurt," says Brendon. "Maybe not as much as fire, but you're still an asshole."

"How am I the asshole in all of this?" Spencer demands.

"Because you fucked me and then you treat me like shit and you somehow think that's not going to matter to me?" Brendon offers.

"I never--"

"Right. Because you've said three words to me since, not counting right now."

Spencer sighs. "Okay," he says softly. "Maybe I shouldn't have just left but I didn't." He sighs again and rubs at his face. "Do you really blame me for not wanting to have the 'thank you for pity fucking me on my birthday' conversation in front of my friends?"

"Pity fuck who?" Brendon asks. "It wasn't a pity fuck."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You don't have to spare my feelings."

"Are you retarded?" Brendon asks.

"Why does everyone always ask me that?"

"You are. You're retarded. It wasn't a pity fuck. Jesus. I don't sleep with people just for the hell of it."

"But," says Spencer. He frowns, then, as if he can't decide what he wants to say.

"But I've had sex on camera, therefore I have no morals?"

"No," Spencer says, looking up at him. "I wasn't going to say that."

"You weren't going to _say_ it, but were you thinking it?"

"No. It's not. I don't think you're amoral or anything because of the porn. I just. I've seen the guys you've been with. And I know you could probably have anybody you want. And it wouldn't make sense for you to want to be with me."

"Why not?"

Spencer rolls his eyes and gestures to himself. "You're not blind."

"What?" Brendon asks. "Really? You think that you're not, really?"

"Can we not talk about this?" Spencer asks. He looks down at his hands and picks at his thumbnail and Brendon can tell that he's really uncomfortable. He really thinks he's unattractive.

"So, um, hey," says Brendon, sitting down next to him. "I'm Brendon."

Spencer looks over at him like he's crazy.

"You're Spencer, right? Jon's friend?"

"Are you high?"

"I'm starting over, dick. My name's Brendon. I'm working on my Master's in Piano Performance at UNLV, I'm the teaching assistant for concert choir, and I teach piano lessons a couple times a week. Also, I sometimes do porn shoots for my best friend's website, the Shane Valdes College Spectacular. Have you heard of it?"

"You're high," says Spencer. "Piano? Really?"

Brendon nods. "What do you do Spencer...? What's your last name?"

"Smith."

"Spencer Smith. I'm Brendon Urie. What do you do?"

"I'm a wilderness photographer," Spencer says softly.

"Yeah, I think I saw your pictures up on the walls at the party."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Ryan insists on putting them up. It's not my house, or they wouldn't be up, I promise."

"Why not? They're kind of badass."

"Do you listen to recordings of yourself playing piano for fun?"

"Good point." Brendon bumps Spencer's shoulder with his. "I kinda think you're hot, Spencer Smith."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "You don't have to say that."

"Um, were you or were you not there the night we had scorching sex for hours?"

"I was there," Spencer whispers.

"What part of that night aren't you remembering correctly?"

Spencer closes his eyes and sighs heavily. "I remember all of it."

"Yeah. Okay. So. Honestly, now, you weren't just thinking of me as a trophy fuck?"

Spencer's eyes fly open. "No! God. I wouldn't do that."

"And I don't pity fuck."

Spencer nods. He looks down at his hands again. "I fucked up, huh?"

"Little bit, yeah. Just, you know, don't do it again."

Spencer looks over at him, one eyebrow quirked.

"Not that you have to want to try actually dating or anything, just that I'd like to. You know. Date you."

"Okay," says Spencer softly. "I mean, me too. I'd like that, too."

"Awesome," says Brendon. He looks at the locked door. "Now we just have to wait for the little shit to let us out."

"You could always call Shane and have him let us out."

Brendon grins. "You're a genius." He pulls out his phone and sends Shane a text. _yr little btch lcked us in the bedroom--sos!!!_

A minute later, he hears Shane swearing softly under his breath and the rattle of the doorknob.

"No!" Alex cries. "You can't let them out until they talk about their feelings."

The door opens and Shane looks at Brendon with a sigh. "I'm sorry," he says. "Alex is getting a spanking tonight."

"Dude," says Brendon, "you know I don't want to know what the two of you do in bed."

Alex sticks his head into the room. "Did you talk about your feelings?" he asks.

"We're men," Brendon tells him. "Men don't talk about their feelings, they just grunt and gesture at things until their intentions are understood."

Alex tugs on his hair and looks away, dejected.

"Don't pout. We're men, but we're gay men. We do talk sometimes. Just, you know. Not about feelings."

"Not ever," Spencer says seriously.

Alex beams at them. "You talked?"

"Don't think your nefarious plan went off without a hitch." Brendon points a finger at him. "You're going to pay for this, and I'm pretty sure the revenge is going to involve your hair."

Alex looks stricken and Shane tugs him away with another, "Sorry," as they disappear back into the hallway.

"So," says Brendon. "Um. What are you doing tonight?"

Spencer shrugs.

"Okay. We should do something. Like, um, dinner."

"Where do you want to go?" Spencer asks.

"You decide. Actually," Brendon says. "You should go home."

Spencer's mouth tightens and he nods quickly. "Yeah. I. Maybe you're right."

"No," says Brendon. "Go home and get dressed up, like, in a tie. And then you can come pick me up and take me out on a proper date."

Spencer smiles. "That's kind of retarded."

"What's your point?"

"Okay," says Spencer. "Pick you up at eight?"

"On the dot," says Brendon.

 

He's actually not ready when Spencer comes by that night at eight o'clock exactly. "Are you always this punctual?" he asks.

"Usually, I'm early," Spencer admits. "And, um, so maybe this is lame. But I got you a flower. Sort of. I would have stopped to get you a bouquet, but then I would have been late and..." He tucks his shoulders in awkwardly.

Brendon takes the silk daisy from Spencer's hand and smiles. He lifts it to his nose and sniffs it, then makes a face. "This smells like old lady perfume," he says.

"Yeah. I stole it from one of Ryan's hats."

Brendon laughs at that and tucks the daisy into his buttonhole.

The restaurant Spencer takes him to is called Silencio and it's a block off the strip. When they get there, Brendon thinks the hostess' makeup is a little intense. Her entire face is painted white except her lips and diamonds around her eyes that are black.

"Huh," Brendon says, looking around the restaurant. All the staff members are wearing black and white clothing. Some of them have black and white striped shirts with black pants. Some have striped pants with black shirts. A couple of them are wearing vests. One is wearing suspenders. The hostess is wearing a bowler hat and white gloves.

As they pass a waiter, Brendon notices that he's got the same black and white makeup on as the hostess and, well. "Is this...? Spencer, is this a mime restaurant?"

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs.

"Not that, I mean, it's cool. Interesting. I didn't know you liked mimes."

Spencer just sighs again as the hostess gestures to their table. After she hands them their menus, she pretends to dust some non-existent crumbs off their table and then gives them a cheerful wave before turning and walking hard against the non-existent blowing wind back to the reception desk.

Spencer closes his eyes and shakes his head. Brendon wonders if maybe nobody's supposed to talk in the mime restaurant. Instead of asking, he just opens his menu. Instead of words, there are drawings inside. Of mimes. Miming out their food choices.

"Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?" Spencer demands as he glares at his menu.

"Are we allowed to talk in the mime restaurant?" Brendon asks.

"I have no idea, this wasn't, fuck. I hate Ryan. I hate him so hard right now. I didn't know where to take you and he said he knew a great place and I might actually kill him when I get home." He leans back in his chair and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Do you want to just bail?"

Brendon's considering it when their waiter comes up to their table and acts as if he's got a pad and pencil in his hands. He looks at them expectantly, then mimes taking a drink and raises his eyebrows.

"Wine," says Spencer. "Very, very strong wine."

The waiter looks at Spencer as if he has no idea what words are.

"That is fucking it," says Spencer. "We're leaving. I am so fucking sorry about this."

Brendon squints up at the waiter, then grins. "Gabe?" he asks with a laugh. "Holy shit, dude, I had no idea you were a part-time mime waiter."

Gabe smiles at Brendon and nods enthusiastically.

"I know Gabe from, um," Brendon pauses, not sure if Gabe wants him tell Spencer that he's on Shane's site, too. Gabe seems to have no qualms about it, however, since he's got his hands in the air as if he's holding on to someone's hips and is gleefully thrusting his pelvis forward.

"Can we get some red wine?" Brendon asks. "Oh. Um." He does his best impression of opening a wine bottle with a corkscrew, and Gabe nods and hurries off.

While the white-painted mime faces are a little creepy, Brendon actually likes the mime restaurant for how fucked up and Vegas it is. "We should stay," he says. "Ryan's probably expecting that we'll bail and if we do, he'll win."

"Good point," says Spencer, looking at his menu. "But what are we going to eat? What the fuck is this supposed to be?"

"Um..." Brendon looks down at his menu. "Okay, I think this drawing means it's chicken," he says, flapping his elbows like wings. "And this one is maybe fish?" He copies the drawing of the mime with wide eyes and a puckered mouth. "Do you just want me to order for you?"

"Sure," says Spencer. "Whatever. I don't know."

"You're mad," Brendon says, reaching out to bump Spencer's foot with his.

"I'm not mad. Well, I'm not mad at _you_, I'm just. I wanted tonight to be awesome and I just." He sighs wearily.

"Yeah, okay," says Brendon. He waves his hand at Gabe from across the room and smiles when Gabe ignores the table he'd been waiting on to skip over to them. "Have you popped the wine already?" he asks.

Gabe shakes his head.

"Okay. Because we're totally going to bail. Not that I wouldn't love to come back some night to watch you be a mime waiter, because it's fucking hilarious, but as far as first dates go, not so into the mimeage."

Gabe leans in close to them and whispers, "Run while you can. Also, I am so fucking drunk right now."

Spencer laughs at that, and Brendon grins at him and takes his hand as they leave the restaurant, ignoring the sad, confused look from the mime hostess.

"Do you just want to, like, get pizza or something?" Spencer asks.

Brendon notices that Spencer's shoulders are slumped and he seems defeated. Brendon's not going to give up on their first date so easily, though. "Well," he says. "We're a little overdressed for pizza. How about Chateau Jacques, instead?"

"Um, I didn't think to call for a reservation last month," Spencer tells him.

"No worries. Just one second." He lets go of Spencer's hand long enough to fish his phone out of his pocket and calls his friend William.

"Brendon!" William answers. "Darling. Hello. Please, please talk to me for a very, very long time. _Excuse me,_" he says to someone else, voice somewhat muffled. "I am taking a _very important_ call at the moment. Honestly, darling, tourists. You know how they are."

"I was hoping you were at work," Brendon says. "I am on a date with a very, very cute boy and, well, his friend suggested Gabe's mime restaurant, but--"

"Do not speak to me of the mime restaurant," William snaps. "It is a blight upon our very souls."

"Exactly. I don't suppose you have any cancellations."

"Hmmm," says William. "I don't need to mention the dress code to you, do I?"

"We're both wearing ties, thank you very much."

"Very nice. Then of course, I can fit you in as soon as soon as you arrive." He makes a noise of displeasure. "I _said_ I was taking an _important_ call. Do they not have important calls in Idaho or wherever it is you people come from? Honestly, Brendon, you can't get here soon enough."

Brendon smiles and ends the call. "So. Chateau Jacques it is."

"Seriously?" Spencer asks.

"My friend William's the maitre d'."

"William, as in, um..."

"Porn William," says Brendon. "Is that going to be weird?"

"No," says Spencer. "I actually, um, I know William, actually."

Brendon raises his eyebrows. "Just how many of the boys in Shane's stable have you been with?"

Spencer splutters and hurries to shake his head. "No. God. Not like. No. Just. _No_."

Brendon laughs. "So you've gone head to head with Las Vegas' bitchiest maitre d'?"

"No. I knew him when I lived in Chicago. He's actually the reason that I." Spencer scrubs his fingers through his hair. "So is it going to be weird if we talk about porn right now?"

"No. I talk about porn all the time."

"He's actually how I found out about the College Spectacular. He sent everybody links when his first video went up and while I didn't watch the video, I did, um, maybe buy a subscription to the site because of a really hot model that I saw and, yeah. I feel so creepy right now."

"Why?" Brendon asks. "You saw me and you bought a subscription? That's kind of rad."

Spencer smiles weakly at him.

"Not me?" he asks. "Who?"

"I'm not telling you. This is weird."

"You've had my dick in your ass. I think we've passed the point where talking about sex is weird, now it's just something that's probably smart for us to do."

"Fine. It was Michael."

Brendon laughs, "That's _awesome_. Mikeyway's awesome. Wait. So you think he's hotter than me?"

"No," Spencer says, shaking his head. "And seriously, I feel like a total creeper right now."

Brendon waits for Spencer to unlock the doors once they get to the car. "Okay," he says once they're both inside. "Here's the thing. You maybe think you know me already because of the whole porn thing, but you don't. You know lighting and scripts and--"

"Scripts?" Spencer asks.

"Well, like, okay, so not traditional porn scripts where one of us is the pizza boy, but you know. Everything's planned out in advance. You know that you're going to make out for two minutes and then take each other's clothes off and then suck dick for five minutes and then change position for another three minutes. It's all planned out."

"Huh," says Spencer as he pulls out of the parking garage. "It looks so spontaneous."

"It's not," Brendon says. "So this? Is an actual first date where we get to know each other, and the fact that you like gay porn, well, who doesn't? It's not creepy as long as you're willing to accept the fact that I'm not the same guy you've seen on the computer screen."

"I am," Spencer says.

"Okay. So don't feel creepy."

Chateau Jacques is packed, like it always is, and William gleefully ignores everyone else waiting for tables when Brendon and Spencer walk in. "Oh, thank _God_," he says, tossing his hair out of his eyes. "You have no idea how boring it is tonight. Hello, Brendon's cute new boy, oh my God, Spencer James Smith, this is fantastic! Look at you! You're so butch and manly." He actually growls a little bit.

Spencer ducks his head down and blushes a bit under William's scrutiny.

"Cynthia, darling," William says to a gorgeous but bored looking waitress. "Table seven for dear Brendon and his boy." He leans in towards Brendon, "He used to look like the prettiest little lesbian."

"So I've been told."

Cynthia leads them to their table, ignoring the protest of other guests who'd been waiting for their reserved tables over an hour. Brendon feels a little guilty about getting in before them, but he also knows perfectly well that the difficulty in getting a table is a large part of what makes Chateau Jacques so popular. Anyone who manages to get past William and to an actual table feels like they've accomplished something, like they deserve the best.

The atmosphere is quietly romantic, and William sends a bottle of wine over to their table without them even having to ask.

"What brought you to Vegas?" Spencer asks after they've ordered appetizers, rock shrimp ravioli and a selection of artisanal cheeses recommended by their waiter.

"Oh, I was born here," Brendon says. "I grew up in Summerlin."

"Get out," says Spencer. "I grew up in Summerlin. Where'd you go to school?"

"Palo Verde."

"Bishop Gorman," Spencer says with a laugh, and Brendon relaxes. He's starting to feel like they're really on a first date and that it's going well. He finds out that Ryan's and Spencer's favorite place to eat in high school was the Port o' Subs right next to the Tropical Smoothie Café where Brendon worked until he was nineteen.

"Why'd you leave?" Brendon asks. "Jon said you ran away? That's. I'm sorry. If it's not something you want to talk about--"

"No," Spencer says. "No, it's all right. Um. One of my best friends killed himself. You maybe knew him, since he went to Palo Verde. Brent Wilson?"

Brendon nods. He hadn't known Brent well, but they'd been in jazz band together.

"It really fucked me up. I was so used to everything in my life being orderly, Ryan excepted, and I couldn't wrap my head around it. I didn't know what to do, so I packed up my car and just started driving, spent nearly a month just camping out and taking pictures and ended up in Chicago."

"I'm sorry," Brendon says softly. "I can tell you my life trauma if it'll make you feel better."

Spencer smiles and shakes his head. "It really is okay, now. I mean it's not, and it never will be, but the ache's not overwhelming anymore."

Brendon's trying to think of something to say when William pulls up a chair and lounges across it. "How's your date going?"

"It's not a threesome," Brendon tells him, poking William in the thigh.

"In my dreams," William says with a sigh. "What are you getting for dinner? Let me decide. Are you a vegetarian, now, too?" he asks Spencer. "Or still a big fan of big meat in your mouth?"

"Oh, my God," says Spencer, then. "You didn't tell me you were a vegetarian. I thought we could share the ravioli, you should have told me, I would have gotten something else."

Brendon shrugs. "I eat seafood sometimes. I'll eat some of your ravioli."

"Oh, I just bet you will," says William. "But honestly, let me order for you. It will be divine. I swear."

Brendon shrugs and looks over at Spencer.

Spencer says, "Okay, but nothing with mushrooms."

"Fantastic," says William, picking up Brendon's wine glass and tipping it back. "Good vintage," he says before he stands up and goes to back work.

"So," says Spencer, "it's kind of nice not having to explain William to you."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

The white truffle risotto William chooses for Brendon is amazing, and Spencer tells him that the rack of lamb is the best he's ever had. For dessert Brendon gets chocolate mousse and Spencer gets an apricot clafoutis. The two desserts taste very good together Brendon discovers after he steals a bite off Spencer's plate.

"Hey," Spencer says, though his smile gives away the fact that he's not really mad.

"Here," says Brendon, spooning up some of the feather-light mousse. "They taste awesome together."

Spencer leans forward and licks a dollop of mousse off the spoon, then nods and says, "Hmm. Not too bad."

Brendon looks at Spencer for a long moment, then says, "We should go back to your place for coffee."

Spencer frowns. "We can get coffee here. I'll flag down the waiter."

"The coffee's a metaphor, Spencer."

"What? I. Oh. Right." Spencer bites his lower lip and Brendon thinks that it will probably never get old, the way his cheeks pink up. "Coffee would be really nice." He flags down the waiter for the check.

They don't say much on the drive back to Spencer's place. Brendon says, "You should maybe drive faster," and Spencer just nods. When they make it back to Spencer's house, Ryan's sitting at the dining room table with spiral notebooks spread out all around him. He's wearing a silk smoking jacket and a black fedora and is gazing down at his notebooks through a monocle.

"Oh, my God, you've actually gone insane," says Spencer when he sees Ryan.

Ryan looks up at them, monocle dropping from his eye and dangling from a black silk ribbon. "You're home! How was the restaurant?"

"Awesome," says Brendon, grinning at him. Ryan's kind of batshit insane, he's realized, in an appealing way.

Ryan looks startled by Brendon's response, then he says, "Is that my flower?" when he spies the daisy in Brendon's buttonhole.

"Nope," says Spencer, grabbing Brendon's hand and dragging him upstairs.

The sex is just as amazing as it had been the first time, but Brendon's favorite part is the way that Spencer honestly seems okay with his need to touch even after they've both come. He wants to drift to sleep with his head on Spencer's shoulder, but he knows there's an awkward conversation they pretty much have to have.

"So," Brendon says. "Um. Not that this is going to be totally fun for either one of us but, well, we should maybe actually talk about the fact that you've watched me having sex with other guys."

Spencer pulls his pillow over his face and groans.

"No, hey," Brendon says, tugging up one corner of the pillow. "Not, like. I don't know. I mean, I'm okay with you watching it. You can still watch it whenever you want to, just. I don't know. Are there any questions you want to ask me about it? People seem to have a lot of questions when they find out."

"Do you tell people?" Spencer asks. "Like, does it just come up in random conversation?"

Brendon shakes his head, pushes the pillow the rest of the way off Spencer's face. "No. I mean, I don't hide it, but I don't just tell people, either. It's not like I've sat any of my professors down and told them. But when people meet me, they usually meet my friends, and, well, you've sort of met all of my friends after tonight, so." He shrugs. "It tends to come up."

"Okay," says Spencer. He closes his eyes. "Just. Not that I think it's wrong or anything, I don't want you to think that, but why? Is the money really that good?"

"It's okay," says Brendon. "It's not the type of thing you'll ever get rich off of unless you're, you know, Shane. The actors get a good fee, but it's not insane. Mostly I do it because it's kind of fun. I like being naked and I like sex and Shane asked me and it was fun, so I did it again."

Spencer opens his eyes and gazes up at Brendon for a while, then closes his eyes again. "I feel like. I don't know. Can you turn the lights off?"

Brendon slips out of bed, takes a moment as he walks to the light switch, knowing that Spencer's looking at his naked ass. Then he turns the lights off and jumps back into bed with Spencer. "Okay. Dark enough for you?"

"Do I measure up?" Spencer asks softly. "I don't mean that literally. I mean I've _seen_, I know that I don't have, like, porn star cock or anything. But. You have sex with really, really hot guys and I don't get how I can be anything but a let down after that."

Brendon laughs and curls up against Spencer, kisses him over and over again. "It's a job, Spencer. That's like, I don't know. That's like me asking you if the pictures you take of cheetahs are better than the pictures you take of your mom's birthday party. It's totally different. First of all, I'm not really interested in any of the guys I work with. It's a job, you know? And it's not...it looks seamless, like we just hop in bed and go at it like crazy people, but that's not it at all. In reality, it's awkward, and there's usually porn somewhere off camera where you can go and look at and get hard again when you get soft during the shoot, and half the guys take Viagra to keep it up because you're not just having sex. You're worried about camera angles, and the cock light is really fucking hot, so you're trying to keep away from that."

Spencer laughs. "The cock light?"

"Come on. You're a photographer. You know perfectly well that if it wasn't for creative lighting, nobody could see what was going on between two people's bodies. There's a cock light that they shine up on you during the fucking and it gets really hot. My friend Eric has a scar on his dick from where the light burned him. It's just a little one, he's not deformed or anything, but still."

Brendon curls up next to Spencer, kisses his collarbones, then the hollow of his throat. He really likes Spencer's collarbones, wants to bite them whenever he sees them. He gives one of Spencer's collarbones a gentle nip.

"Hey," Spencer says, laughing softly.

"Love your collarbones," Brendon tells him. He kisses his way down Spencer's chest, tongues at his nipple. "Love your body." He feels Spencer sigh, doesn't have to be able to see to know that Spencer's rolling his eyes. "_Love_ your body," he says again, running his hand up and down Spencer's thigh.

"Whatever," says Spencer.

Brendon nips at his skin again. "I mean it. You have an amazing body."

Spencer sighs.

"I'm just going to keep saying it until you believe me."

"I believe that you think it," says Spencer. He pauses. "So, the cock light and stuff doesn't sound sexy at all, but. Come on. You wouldn't rather be with someone like William?"

"You think I'd rather be with an overly dramatic, alcoholic, bitchy queen than with you? Not to say that I don't love William, because I do love William, he's just. You know. An overly dramatic, alcoholic, bitchy queen."

"He's hot," says Spencer.

"Hotter than me?"

"No," Spencer says quickly. "I don't. He's not my type."

Brendon kisses his way back up to Spencer's face, nuzzles against his soft beard. "I was kidding."

"So when you're, you know. Working. What do you think about? You said that there's porn playing off camera?"

Brendon nods. "Usually straight porn, for the guys who aren't really into dick."

"There are actually guys that aren't into dick?" Spencer asks. "I thought that whole 'gay for pay' thing was a crock."

"Um. We met through Jon. He's pretty much only gay for pay. As far as I know, I'm the only guy who's ever gotten a hand on him."

"That's disturbing. Let's never talk about that again. It took me long enough to forget it in the first place."

"Some of the guys are straight, some of them are bi, a couple of us are gay. Some of them are like Gabe, the mime waiter? He's just." Brendon shrugs. "He says that he'll fuck anything that holds still long enough and at first you think he's kidding, but then. If you ever hang out with us and Gabe's drunk, he's going to make out with you."

"I really don't want to make out with a mime waiter," Spencer says.

"Yeah. You won't really have a choice. You'll just be talking to somebody, sipping wine, having a conversation, and then the next second Gabe's tongue will be down your throat. He's a stealth French kisser. And Jon's straight. And William's bi. And Travis is totally straight except for on camera, and he never bottoms, even on camera. It's a job, you know?"

Spencer nods and slides his hand up and down Brendon's back. "Do your parents know?"

Brendon shakes his head. He doesn't think he gives anything away, but he must because Spencer nuzzles against him and says, "Hey. What's wrong? Bad thing to bring up?"

"No," Brendon tells him. "My parents are awesome. They're also really religious and they're pretty sure that I'll stop liking boys one day and get married and have a million babies, so. Yeah."

Spencer strokes his face and kisses him gently. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I mean, they're talking to me, now. I went about a year without any contact and." He sighs. "That really, really sucked. See? I told you I'd tell you about my life trauma. What about your parents, are they okay with it?"

"My mom's the president of the Las Vegas PFLAG," Spencer admits.

"She is not."

"Swear to God."

Brendon laughs, and he really likes lying in the dark with Spencer, face to face. Spencer's skin is cool to the touch and it feels comfortable against his always-overheated skin. He kisses Spencer gently, heat behind the kiss but nothing more than a press of their lips together. "This is really nice," he whispers.

"Yeah," says Spencer, his breath ghosting against Brendon's mouth.

"Tell me about your family. Your mom's really the president of PFLAG."

Spencer laughs. "I was so worried before I came out to them, thought for sure they'd be mad or my mom would cry or my dad would hate me or whatever and then it was just. Anticlimactic. It was like she was excited that I was gay. She already knew, said she already knew, anyway. I thought I did a good job of hiding it."

Brendon nods. "She probably knew. My parents knew. Or, you know, dreaded it. They didn't want it to be true. Still don't."

Spencer kisses him again.

"It's okay, now," Brendon tells him. "Really. Like, it's awkward and every once in a while my mom tries to fix me up on blind dates with good Mormon girls, but mostly it's okay. They're getting a lot better than they were, especially now that they know I'm not living in sin with Shane."

He can feel Spencer smile against his mouth. "My parents were positive that I was dating Ryan. The fact that he's straight still mystifies my mother. Sometimes, she leaves pamphlets around about accepting yourself for who you are and I'm pretty sure they're meant for him."

It's Brendon's turn to laugh. "He is a little, um. What's a good word for him?"

"Ryan," says Spencer. "That's the only word I've ever been able to come up with, anyway."

"I was going to say 'eccentric'."

"Okay, that works, too."

"So your mom was proud. What about your dad?"

"That took longer. Like, he said right away that he was okay with it, but then he'd ask me if I wanted to go shoot hoops in the driveway and then pale like maybe he said something wrong, like maybe I secretly wanted to play Barbies with my sisters and he was forcing me to conform to some heteronormative world view. He's cool with it now, though. I think the Ryan thing definitely freaked him out at first. Why didn't your parents want you dating Shane? Because of the porn thing?'

"Oh, no, he totally didn't even have a porn website when we dated."

"You and Shane actually dated? Like, for real?'

"For two days. Not even. And then we looked at each other and started laughing because, seriously, we make great friends but really, really terrible anything else. Shane's all about going out and getting some ass and I just want a boyfriend, you know?"

"I thought Shane had a boyfriend."

"It's an anomaly. It's weird, the way he is with Alex. I've never seen that before. Usually he fucks some guy at a club and comes home and shows me his camera phone pics of it."

"Dirty."

"I know."

"But you, um. You want a boyfriend? Like, you know, not that we're really even dating right now..."

"We're not?" Brendon asks. "Because I'm pretty sure that was just a date we were on, and that was definitely one of the best goodnight kisses I've ever gotten."

"I'm just saying. I know it's too early to, like, say that we're dating. But it's nice to know that that's what you're looking for. That you want something serious. Oh, my God. You need to make me stop talking right now before I make a complete ass of myself."

"You're not making an ass of yourself," Brendon says, leaning in to kiss him. "It's nice." He does curl up with his head on Spencer's shoulder, then, and falls asleep to the feel of Spencer's fingers in his hair.

In the morning, they shower together and trade sleepy kisses and blowjobs. On the drive home, Brendon makes Spencer stop at a Walgreens so he can get scissors.

"Why do you need scissors?" Spencer asks. "Don't you own a pair?"

"Oh, I'm getting the special haircutting kind," Brendon explains. "To taunt little Alex with."

"Good plan," says Spencer. When they get to Brendon's place, they make out in Spencer's car in the driveway for a while.

"You should come inside," Brendon says, unable to stop kissing him.

Spencer hums agreeably against Brendon's mouth, but then says, "I have meetings all afternoon."

Brendon sighs and they kiss goodbye, then kiss goodbye again, and then some more just for good measure. When he finally gets inside, he considers crawling straight into bed, but then his stomach growls and he detours into the kitchen, where he pours himself a big bowl of cereal. He's been trying this thing where he only eats adult cereal, and even if Shane makes fun of him for it, he totally thinks that cinnamon Life counts as adult cereal.

He's mostly finished, about to start drinking the milk out of the bowl, when Alex shuffles into the kitchen sleepily. "Hey," he says, then pours himself a bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Brendon feels secretly superior to him and considers pulling out his brand new scissors.

When Alex sits down, though, Brendon takes note, because he's moving slowly and he eases himself into the chair.

"Dude," says Brendon, "did you get spanked or fucked last night?"

"Both," Alex says, shifting in his chair. "Ow. I think maybe I have a couple of welts."

"Okay," says Brendon. "Moving on."

"It's not like I was going to tell you _how_ he spanked me," Alex says. "But seriously, does our sex life freak you out?"

Brendon thinks about that for a moment. "No?" he asks.

"Because, really, sex is something sacred between two, or three, people, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. I thought you of all people would get that."

"No, no, I do," Brendon says. "Just. You know. I have to look at you when I'm conducting you in choir and, well, I'm pretty sure that was your schoolgirl uniform in the laundry room last week and that's too much information for me."

Brendon finds out what the schoolgirl uniform is for accidentally a week later. It totally sucks that he drove all the way to campus only to have his class cancelled. He walks back to the parking lot and drives home, thinking that at least he and Shane can hang out, maybe go to the mall or the grocery store, which he hates doing by himself, maybe watch some of Shane's pretentious movie favorites, maybe just hang out and watch TV and get stoned.

He drops his book bag inside the front door, which he knows annoys Shane, who always trips over it, but he figures he'll remember to pick it up later, before Shane has to leave to go over to Summerlin to his porno office. He wanders down the hallway and leans into Shane's room to say "hello," then freezes.

Shane's standing there in a priest outfit, and Brendon's a little afraid to really look, but he's pretty sure there's an altar set up at the foot of his bed, and something big that might be a confessional.

"Um," says Brendon. "I'll just. Okay."

Shane looks up sharply, "Brendon!" he says. "I was just. Um. Okay. This looks bad."

"Are you and Alex going to play priest and naughty altar boy? You know what? Don't tell me. I don't want to know. Just. Yeah. I'm going to just start drinking."

He grabs a bottle of vodka and the orange juice and retreats to his room. He's always known Shane was into kinky shit, had even done some semi-kinky things with Shane back when they dated for, like, a day and a half, but he really, really doesn't want to know about the things that Shane gets up to with wee little Alex. It's so dirty, somehow, like finding out what one of the Golden Girls does in bed. Brendon unwillingly gets a visual of Bea Arthur eating out Estelle Getty and shudders. Sometimes, he hates his brain.

He's halfway through the vodka and mostly through his orange juice when he decides to call Spencer.

"I think I might be an alcoholic," is the first thing he says.

"Ryan? What? Why are you calling me when you're supposed to be writing? Where's Greta? Is Greta really letting you drink during the day?"

"It's Brendon," he says. "I've been drinking for nearly forty five minutes and I thought that would help, but then Alex actually showed up and, well, listen. Can you hear it?" He holds the phone up to the wall. He can hear Shane and Alex's voices well enough, as well as the Gregorian chant playing in the background. He can also smell the incense and he's pretty sure it's the kind that goes in those big Catholic swingy things. He doesn't know why ex-Catholics always seem to get off on freaky Catholic things.

"What is it that I'm supposed to be listening to?" Spencer asks.

"Shane and Alex are playing weird Catholic sex games," Brendon says. "When I decided to get drunk, I didn't really think it through because now I'm too drunk to escape."

Spencer laughs softly. "Do you want me to come get you?"

"Yes, please. I'll be waiting outside. Where there are no freaky chants in Latin or incense smoke. I'm kind of scared."

"It might take me a while. I have a teleconference with an editor, but--"

"Okay," says Brendon. "Then I'm just going to put my headphones on and turn them up really, really loud. Hopefully I won't be deaf by the time you get here because I really like your voice. Especially the way you sound when I'm fucking you."

Spencer's silent for a moment. "I'll be there as soon as I can," he says.

Brendon decides to wait on the front porch, anyway, since it's a nice day and he could use the fresh air. When Spencer pulls up half an hour later, Brendon says, "We should go play mini-golf."

"Um. Okay?"

"No, seriously, think about it. It's a gorgeous day, the air's actually starting to get cool, and mini-golf is awesome."

"I'm not really dressed for mini-golf," says Spencer.

Brendon rolls his eyes. "Lame. Nobody actually exerts themselves during mini-golf. And I'm pretty sure nobody actually exerts themselves during actual golf. Big golf? Mega golf? I've never actually played mega golf. Do you golf?"

"Are you still drunk?" Spencer asks.

"No. Just a spaz. I am serious about the mini-golf, thing, though."

Spencer smiles at him and, yeah, that's a look that Brendon definitely wants directed his way as much as possible. "Fine," he says. "Get in the car."

He takes them to the mini golf course in Summerlin, which is a little weird. "So I've been here a million times with my family," he tells Spencer. "But never on a date, before. I kind of feel like maybe my mom's going to be back there hiding behind the windmill."

"You wanna go somewhere else?"

"No. I call the red ball." Red is Brendon's lucky color, and he's totally convinced it will help him kick Spencer's ass. It doesn't. "So how are you so terrifyingly good at mini golf?" he asks once they've reached the swinging monkey. Spencer's already gotten three hole-in-ones and Brendon's ridiculously above par.

"I used to work here," Spencer says with a wink, and then he times his putt perfectly so that the monkey's swinging arms don't even touch his ball.

"You did? When?"

"In high school."

"And my family came here pretty much every Monday night," Brendon says. "Which means we've probably met before."

"Probably," Spencer agrees.

"Life is strange," says Brendon, then he putts and his ball goes wide and the monkey arm hits it and rolls it straight back to him. "I curse you, swinging monkey," he says, shaking his fist at it.

Spencer laughs and puts the red ball back on the tee, then moves behind Brendon. "Here," he says, sliding his hands down Brendon's arms. "You just have to time it, wait until the arm is right in the center and..." The ball rolls neatly between the swinging arms and makes it onto the green. "See?" he asks.

Brendon turns and grins at him. "I see that mini golf is kinda sexy. It was never sexy when I played it with my family."

Spencer rewards him with another smile. "That's a good thing."

Brendon takes a deep breath, lets the warmth of Spencer's touch and his smile roll through him. "I think we should be boyfriends," he says. "Like, officially."

"Okay," says Spencer.

"And also? I really want to make out with you right now."

"I'm not making out with you in the middle of the afternoon on a mini golf course."

Brendon pouts, but Spencer's having none of it, just rolls his eyes and heads to the putting green, where he taps his ball neatly into the hole.

"So," Spencer says when they're waiting for the family in front of them to be finished at the sixth hole. "About the boyfriends thing, that's cool because, um, I'm supposed to invite you to dinner. With my family."

Brendon grins and bounces on his toes. "Really?"

"Yeah. I know it's lame, but my parents want to meet you."

"You told your parents about me?"

"Too early?" Spencer asks.

"Nope. Awesome." Brendon does his awesome dance to prove his point.

"What was that?"

"My awesome dance."

"Okay."

"Look," he says. "Now that we're officially dating, you're just going to have to get used to my awesome dance. And my happy dance. And my I just got laid dance. I hope you get to see that one, like, a lot."

"As long as you don't have a mini golf dance, I think it'll be fine."

"I should make up a mini golf dance," Brendon says.

"Please don't."

Brendon dances through the entire next hole just to prove that he is an awesome dancer. It takes him seventeen swings to make the ball into the hole, but watching Spencer go from amused to mortified to laughing so hard he can barely breathe makes his bad score totally worth it.

"Where to, now?" Spencer asks once they're done. "If you're hungry, I've got stuff at my place to make vegetarian fajitas."

"I'm always hungry," Brendon says. "And vegetarian fajitas? Really?"

Spencer shrugs. "I like to cook. I watch a lot of Food Network, and they were making vegetarian fajitas and you're a vegetarian and they looked good."

"Can we make margaritas to go with them?"

"I don't have margarita mix, but I do have Mexican beer."

"Sold!" Brendon cries, and smiles when Spencer laughs.

As soon as they get into Spencer's house, Ryan comes around the corner saying, "Greta? Greta, I'm sorry, I---oh. You're not Greta."

"Nope," says Brendon.

Spencer sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Greta left me," Ryan says sadly. Even the carnation in his buttonhole seems to be drooping.

"What did you do this time?" Spencer asks.

"Nothing."

"Ryan."

"It makes sense, that's all! She said that she wasn't always going to be around to take care of me and I said she would if we got married and then she quit."

"You guys were dating, too?" Brendon asks.

"No," Ryan says.

"You asked Greta to marry you," says Spencer. "Okay, beer first, then you can tell me the rest of the story."

"There's really not much more to tell," Ryan says, following Spencer into the kitchen. "She told me that I had to learn to start doing stuff for myself and I said if she married me then she'd be my wife and she could take care of me forever and she said that it was ridiculous since we aren't even attracted to each other and then I said that she's kind of my type and then she quit."

"Wow," says Brendon.

"Actually," says Spencer, "that's not half as bad as I was expecting it to be. She'll be back."

"No, I think she really meant it this time."

"She always comes back, Ryan."

"She left her keys."

"She's left her keys before."

"She just seemed so mad."

"Hey," says Brendon, reaching out to rub Ryan's shoulder. "There's nothing you can do right now except give her time to cool off."

"I guess."

"We're making vegetarian fajitas and you can help if you want."

Ryan shrugs.

"You're helping," says Spencer.

"You know I can't cook."

"You're in charge of setting the table."

"What am I in charge of?" Brendon asks.

"Refreshments," says Spencer, he watches until Ryan's out of the kitchen and then leans in and kisses Brendon. "You're also in charge of being really cute."

"Sweet," says Brendon, kissing him back. "But that leaves you in charge of everything else."

"Spencer's a control freak," Ryan calls from the dining room.

"It's kind of true," Spencer admits.

"Hey, if that means all I have to do is pop open beers and look cute while you make me dinner, I'm okay with that."

Spencer leans in and gives him a kiss. "Thank you," he says softly.

"For popping open beers and looking cute?"

"For including Ryan."

Brendon shrugs. It hadn't really occurred to him not to.

He doesn't know how Ryan does it, but by the time dinner's ready, the dining room looks like it's been decorated for _Dia de los Muertos_. There are painted skeleton candleholders and papel picado placemats and lush plastic rose vines twined around the chairs. "Do I have time to make centerpieces?" Ryan asks.

Spencer grins at him fondly and shakes his head. "No. It's time to eat."

Brendon doesn't think he's ever seen Ryan eat before, and he's astounded at the amount of food Ryan can pack away.

After dinner, Spencer washes the dishes by hand. Brendon dries and Ryan sits on the countertop, watching. "We should put on _Moulin Rouge_," he says once Brendon and Spencer have finished up the dishes.

"Again?" Spencer asks at the same time Brendon cries, "I love that movie!"

His favorite part of the entire movie is Ewan McGregor walking the cold, dark streets during _El Tango de Roxanne_, and he falls asleep on the couch shortly after that. He doesn't mind missing the end of the movie when Spencer wakes him gently, sleepily follows Spencer up the stairs to his room and strips down and curls up next to Spencer to sleep, imagining that in the end, Christian and Satine live happily ever after.

Brendon wakes up alone, and he feels a strange sort of dread, like the dates with Spencer were maybe just in his head and he's going to go downstairs and find Cassie staring at the coffee maker and Spencer refusing to meet his eyes.

Instead, when he gets downstairs, Spencer's sitting in the family room, phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. "Yeah, I know," he says, then looks up at sees Brendon. He smiles and reaches out to tug Brendon into his lap, and Brendon is totally down with early morning sleepy cuddling. He nuzzles against Spencer's neck as Spencer says, "I _know_, I know he's impossible, but--" He sighs and runs his fingers through Brendon's hair.

Brendon can vaguely make out a woman's voice on the other end of the line, and he assumes it must be Greta.

"Look, we'll set up an actual schedule so you'll have regular hours and, no, no, he'll follow it. I know what he's like, but he's going to have to follow it. Yes, I know you can't just come running at any time of the day or night. Yes, I know you have an actual life."

Brendon dozes against Spencer's shoulder through the rest of the conversation, and once Spencer hangs up he asks, "Is she in love with him?"

"Is who in love with who?"

"Greta. Is she in love with Ryan?"

Spencer's silent for a while. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably. Ryan can be tough to deal with if you don't love him."

"Do you? Love him."

Spencer shakes his head. "No. Well, yeah, but not. I'm not in love with him."

"Okay." Brendon kisses Spencer's neck. "Good."

Spencer turns just enough so their lips meet, and Brendon smiles against the kiss. They make out lazily on the couch for a long time, until Spencer stills and says, "You scared the shit out of me."

"What?" Brendon asks, then notices Ryan sitting on the coffee table right in front of them. It would be a little creepy even if Ryan wasn't wearing pinstriped pajamas and a fedora, which he is.

"I didn't just say she was kind of my type," Ryan says softly, seemingly unconcerned that he'd just been watching Brendon and Spencer make out for God knows how long. "I said that she was hot and kind of like the girls I'd dated before except not as skinny."

Spencer groans and presses his forehead to Brendon's temple.

"And then she seemed mad, so I told her she had really nice breasts." He takes his hat off and toys with the feather on the band. "That's the kind of stuff you and Cassie are always trying to get me not to say, right?"

"Yeah," says Spencer.

"Okay. I just. I don't know how to take it back. Especially because she does have really nice breasts." He pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. "I don't want another assistant."

"If we set up ground rules," says Spencer, "can you follow them? If Greta agrees to come back under certain conditions, can you make sure you respect them?"

"I'll really, really try," Ryan says earnestly.

"Okay." Spencer scratches the back of Brendon's neck. "Do you mind if I take you home? I think I've kind of got a lot of work to do."

"I've already missed my first class of the day," Brendon admits. "I should probably not miss the rest."

He makes it to campus just in time to lead his small group piano performance class, then has his seminar in Duo Sonata Literature. On his way back down to the practice rooms, he just barely avoids running into Dr. Toro, whose Post-Tonal Analysis class he missed that morning. He works on the Chopin Etude he's going to perform at his recital, then some of Bartok's Romanian Folk Dances. He thinks about practicing his Debussy but instead he pulls out his phone and calls Spencer.

"Hey, you," Spencer says warmly when he picks up.

"Did you talk to Greta?" he asks. It's not exactly what he wants to say, but he'd feel stupid if he admitted that he called just to hear Spencer's voice.

"Yeah. She's thinking about coming back."

"Did you ask her if she was in love with Ryan?"

"Um, no. The point is to get her to come back."

"Maybe she shouldn't," Brendon says. When Spencer doesn't respond, he says, "I mean, if she actually is in love with him, working for him probably isn't the best thing for her."

"Okay," says Spencer slowly.

"I'm sorry." Brendon slumps on the piano bench, places his head against the piano's pale oak case. "I get contrary sometimes. I actually just called to hear your voice."

"Oh."

"Are you mad?"

"About what?"

"What I said about Greta?"

Spencer sighs. "No. You're probably right, just. It's easier for me when she's around. I worry less. I know that sounds selfish."

"No. It sounds normal. Do you think I'm a giant dork?"

"In what context?"

Brendon smiles and straightens up. "Because I called just to hear your voice. Is that creepy?"

"No. It's nice."

"Okay," says Brendon. He plays a quick arpeggio with his left hand.

"Are you sitting at the piano right now?"

"Yeah."

"Play me something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I don't know anything about piano music."

Brendon plays the Chopin Etude for him because it's showy and he wants Spencer to be impressed.

"Are you impressed?" he asks when he picks the phone back up.

"Was that really you?" Spencer asks.

Brendon laughs.

"No, seriously. That's really what you do? You can play like that?"

"I guess. You liked it?"

"You're kind of amazing," Spencer says, and Brendon smiles and lets himself enjoy the warmth he feels inside.

"You wanna go out tonight?" Brendon asks.

"I think I need to console Ryan. He's kind of...useless without Greta. I mean, sure, she gets days off, but now that he's convinced that she's not coming back, he's devastated. Rain check?"

Brendon's disappointed, wants to see Spencer again and make out with him and hear him laugh and get into his pants, but he understands. "Rain check," he says.

When Spencer doesn't call him the next day, he forces himself to relax and not freak out. He doesn't even text Spencer incessantly, though Shane stealing his phone may have something to do with that.

"You can have it back tomorrow," Shane says after two hours of Brendon pestering him for it.

"But I need my phone. It's important. It's _essential_."

"If I give you your phone back, do you promise not to text Spencer a hundred times?"

Brendon sighs, then says. "I promise." When he gets the phone back, he's got a text from Spencer saying that he's got meetings all week and that he hopes Brendon had a good day and that he sleeps well. "He told me to have sweet dreams," Brendon tells Shane.

Shane rolls his eyes but doesn't mock Brendon the way he would have pre-Alex. The little kid's softening him up.

They text back and forth all week, but Spencer doesn't call him for days. When he finally does call, the first thing he says is, "Sorry. Fuck. This whole Greta thing is a clusterfuck."

"She's not coming back?"

"She's not coming back and I'm trying to interview new assistants and it's a nightmare. There's one guy who's pretty good, but his background is in security, not being a personal assistant, and he ever decides he wants to kill Ryan with his bare hands he'll probably be able to do it."

"Want me to come over to your office and give you a blowjob?" Brendon asks.

Spencer's silent for a moment. "Are you serious?"

"I never kid about blowjobs."

"Oh, God. I so wish I could say yes. I have more meetings with the calendar people. Did I tell you that I'm putting out a calendar? Is that lame?"

"Depends. How many shots are there of puppies in bonnets?" Brendon's mom loved calendars full of puppies in bonnets.

Spencer laughs. "None."

"Then it's not lame. Is it a twelve month calendar or a daily calendar?"

"Twelve month, maybe? They're talking about a planner, too. I don't know. It's kind of weird. Do you want to meet my parents?"

"Exactly how much caffeine have you had today?" Brendon asks, amused at the speed Spencer changes topics.

"Enough to keep me sane, not enough to cause heart palpitations. Saturday night my parents want you to come over and have dinner. I told them maybe it was too soon, especially since Jon and Cassie are moving into Ryan's house for a while and we're having a barbecue? I don't know. Ryan's planning it. At least it gives him something to do besides mope over Greta."

"Will he be barbecuing any wolf intestines? Because I'm not down with that."

"No wolf intestines, I promise."

"Dinner with the parents and a barbecue with your friends. You keep this up and I'm going to think you're sweet on me."

Spencer hums softly. "That's probably because I am sweet on you."

Brendon smiles and enjoys the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He's not enjoying the butterflies so much the actual night he's supposed to meet Spencer's parents, though. His phone rings while he's getting ready and he thinks about not answering it, but it's his mother and she rarely calls, so he picks up.


	4. Chapter 4

Brendon smiles and enjoys the feeling of butterflies in his stomach. He's not enjoying the butterflies so much the actual night he's supposed to meet Spencer's parents, though. His phone rings while he's getting ready and he thinks about not answering it, but it's his mother and she rarely calls, so he picks up.

"Hi, sweetie," she says.

"Hey." Brendon stands in front of the mirror and holds up his lavender polo shirt and wonders if it's way too _I'm totally sucking your son's dick later_ for a family gathering.

"Now your performance next week, the jazz band?"

"Ensemble," he says, going back to his closet and browsing through his shirts. He pulls out his favorite t-shirt and decides it's too casual.

"Right. It starts at six?"

"What? Oh, yeah."

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. You sound distracted. What's wrong?"

He smiles wryly. "Nothing's wrong, I'm just a little." He shrugs, then figures he might as well go for it. "I'm meeting my boyfriend's parents tonight for the first time and I'm a little nervous. I'm trying to decide what to wear."

His mother doesn't say anything. Brendon doesn't know what he expected her to say.

"You'd like him," he says, though he doesn't know if that's true. "His name's Spencer. He's a photographer and he grew up in Summerlin. His parents actually just live up in The Trails. I'll be, like, fifteen minutes away from home." He's fishing. He's hoping that his mother says something uncharacteristic. He's hoping that she'll tell him to stop by so she can meet Spencer.

"That's a nice neighborhood," she says. She doesn't ask Brendon to stop by and he closes his eyes. He knew she wouldn't; he doesn't know why he lets it disappoint him.

"I think you'll really like him when you meet him," he says. He makes sure to say _when_. He makes sure not to say _if_. He sits down on the end of his bed. "I really like him, Mom."

"Brendon," she says softly.

He flops back onto his bed and stares up at the ceiling.

"Honey, I know you think--"

"Don't," he says softly. "I'm already nervous enough about tonight. I don't need you making it worse."

He can hear the deep breath she takes.

"I like him a lot. And I know you think that one day I'll snap out of it, but I won't. I can't keep having the same fight with you over and over again."

"I just want you to be happy."

"Then let me be happy."

"You can't--"

"No." He sits up. "Mom, I'm happy."

"You don't sound happy."

"You're the one who makes me unhappy. You're the one who hurts me." He half wishes he could take the words back as soon as they're out of his mouth, but he doesn't apologize because it's true. "If you really want me to be happy, then let me be happy that I've met someone I really like. Let me be happy that he wants me to meet his family. Let me be happy for the things in my life that are real instead of trying to force me to be something I'm not. I know I'm not the son you want, but I'm the son you have, so let me be happy the way I am, okay?"

She takes another deep breath and Brendon's stomach drops when he realizes that she's crying, that he made his mother cry.

"Mom," he whispers.

"I don't know what to do," she says softly. "I don't know how to get through to you. It's like you're two different people. My little Brendon and this other person that I don't know."

"You're the one who didn't want to know me," he snaps. He presses his hand over his eyes.

"I'll see you at your performance," she says, voice tight. "I'll see you then, and I love you."

"Love you, too," he says. He puts the phone down after she hangs up and sighs. He stares at his closet, then opens his door and calls out, "I have nothing to wear!"

Alex appears in his doorway not a minute later. "The jeans are good," he says. "What shirts are you thinking about? Hey, are you all right?'

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Brendon manages a shaky smile. "No. But you know. I'll be fine eventually."

"There's no need to be nervous," Alex says, picking through Brendon's shirts. He pulls out a pale gray button down. "Here. Wear this."

"It's not too boring?" Brendon asks.

"Nope. You're a winter The color compliments your skin tone and brings out your eyes."

Brendon grins at him.

"What?"

"I'm a _winter_?"

"My mom does Color Me Beautiful, okay? It rubs off. Anyway. The color looks good on you but it's not too showy, so definitely a good 'meet the parents' look."

Brendon puts the shirt on and goes out to show Shane, who just shrugs. His idea of fashion is several different shades of black and hand knit wool hats to cover up his hair when he doesn't feel like washing it.

The only person whose opinion really matters is Spencer's and he seems to approve when he arrives to pick Brendon up. "Hey, you look amazing," he says, pulling Brendon close. He slips his hand beneath the hem of Brendon's shirt and strokes his back, like he's already figured out that skin-to-skin contact calms Brendon down.

Brendon slides his arms around Spencer's shoulders and holds on, presses his face against Spencer's neck and takes a deep breath.

"What's going on?" Spencer asks.

Brendon shakes his head. "You smell really good."

"I took a shower. I do that sometimes."

"No, it's your skin. Your skin smells good."

"I didn't know skin had a smell."

"Yours does." Brendon pulls back just enough so he can tip his head up for a kiss. He kisses Spencer slowly, gentle kisses at first, building up heat.

Spencer's fingers splay across the skin of Brendon's back as they kiss, and what started softly soon turns into a deep, searching kiss, Brendon clinging to Spencer's shoulders, Spencer pulling their bodies flush together.

"Let's stay in tonight," Brendon gasps as they pull apart. "Come to bed with me."

Spencer shakes his head and takes a step back. "Brendon."

"I mean it. We can lock ourselves in my room and I'll do the dirtiest things to you, anything you want."

"We're going to be late for dinner."

"Fuck dinner."

Spencer frowns but doesn't say anything.

Brendon fidgets under Spencer's stare. He looks down at his hands and sighs and says. "I've never met anybody's parents before."

Spencer smiles and takes Brendon's hands in his. "Look, my parents are cool. They already like you just because I do, and they'll love you once they actually meet you. Don't be nervous."

"Why does everybody keep saying that? It's not like it's actually under my control."

"Fine. Be nervous, then, but it's not anything you need to be nervous about. You'll see."

Brendon thinks about saying, _My parents are never going to want to meet you_, but he doesn't. He just says, "Okay. Let me find my shoes and we'll go."

They take the parkway out to Summerlin, and when Spencer takes the exit for Town Center Drive, Brendon gets a flip in his stomach. He holds his breath until they're around Village Center Circle and instead of going east on Hills Drive towards the house where Brendon grew up, Spencer heads to Trails Center Drive and takes them west.

Spencer winds through streets that Brendon's probably driven before and parks in front of a house that looks the same as the rest of the houses on the street.

"Back to the land of the zombies," Brendon mutters, looking out the window.

Spencer touches Brendon's shoulder, then tucks a piece of hair behind his ear. "We can go if you really don't want to do this."

Brendon turns his head fast enough that he can kiss Spencer's wrist before he pulls his hand away. "I want to do this, I'm just lost in my own head right now. When I was in high school I had a theory that they put something in the water, that everybody was drugged and that was the only reason everyone seemed so happy to be like everybody else. They were all zombies."

Spencer smiles warmly at him and nods. "I know. Our tragic suburban childhoods, the stuff of horror films."

On their way towards the house, Brendon notices a bumper sticker on the back of one of the cars in the driveway. It says _I'm a PFLAG Mom!_ and he laughs. "You really weren't kidding."

"Dude," says Spencer. "You have no idea. Do not even get her started or we'll have to talk about the safe schools campaign all through dinner."

Brendon tries to imagine a high school where he never got punched, shoved into a locker, called a faggot, or pissed on in the showers, and he decides he's a fan of the safe schools campaign. He might ask Mrs. Smith about it,later.

Mrs. Smith is there to open the door before they even get to the front stoop. "You look thin," is the first thing she says to Spencer.

"I really don't," he tells her, then pulls her into his arms for a hug. She's small and plump and Spencer's got her eyes and her stunning smile. "This is Brendon."

"It's so wonderful to meet you," she says, giving Brendon a hug. Brendon likes her already. "You're practically skin and bones," she says, clucking her tongue. "I hope you brought your appetite. Just let me go and put the casserole in the oven."

Spencer looks over at Brendon with a grin as his mother hurries off into the kitchen. "Did I warn you about the food thing?" he asks.

Brendon shakes his head.

"Yeah. Sorry. She's going to try to make you eat twice your body weight in casseroles and then she's going to send us both home with leftovers."

Brendon grins back at Spencer and says, "Sweet."

"Spencer, honey, give Brendon the tour while I get this broccoli steaming," Mrs. Smith calls from the kitchen.

"Yes, mom," Spencer says with a roll of his eyes. He toes his shoes off, so Brendon does the same. "Hallway," says Spencer with a wave of his arm. "That's the kitchen."

"I never would have guessed," Brendon says as they pass it.

"Living room," Spencer says as they walk past a formal sitting room in the front of the house that looks unused. "And the family room's in here. Hi, Dad."

Spencer's father looks up from the magazine he's reading and grins. He pushes himself up out of his recliner and shakes Brendon's hand firmly. "You must be Brendon," he says. "Nice to meet you, son."

"You, too, Mr. Smith."

"Jim, please."

"Okay," Brendon says, nodding. "Jim." He's starting to feel a little nervous, and he's thankful when Spencer tugs him away and tells his father he has to finish the tour.

"Do I get to see your room, now?" Brendon asks as he follows Spencer up the stairs.

"This way." Spencer takes his hand and leads him down the hall. "I haven't lived here since I was seventeen, but it's still exactly the same. It's kind of creepy."

The room does look like a teenage boy lives there, the room decorated in red and navy blue with Blink-182 and Good Charlotte posters on the walls.

"Oh, my God," says Brendon as he looks at the photographs tacked to a bulletin board above the desk. "You really did look like a lesbian."

"Shut up," says Spencer, laughing. "Check that one out."

Brendon leans in and squints at the photograph of a rail-thin boy with dyed black hair that hangs in his face as he plays the guitar. "Is that...Ryan?" Brendon asks.

"During his emo phase, yeah."

"I didn't know he played the guitar."

Spencer shrugs, then points to a picture of a group of boys. Brendon recognizes Ryan and Spencer, and Brent Wilson; he doesn't recognize the blonde boy on the end.

"We were in a band for a while," Spencer says, slipping his arms around Brendon's waist from behind. "Before Ryan left for school."

"What did you play?"

"Drums."

"Really? I love percussion. Not as much as piano but, well, piano's kind of a percussion instrument, really." Brendon turns in the circle of Spencer's arms and grins at him. "Moment of truth. How many boys have you had sex with in this room?"

"Um, none."

"Seriously?"

"Well, unless I can count myself, then one."

Brendon waggles his eyebrows and leans in for a quick kiss. "That's hot."

"Yeah, right."

"Seriously. I want to watch you jerk off next time."

"Why?"

"Because it'll be hot. I'm imagining it right now." And he is. He's imagining Spencer lounging on his bed, naked, hands stroking up and down his body. "You wanna jerk off for me right now?" he asks in a whisper, mouth against Spencer's ear.

"My parents are home."

"You've watched me jerk off online. I know you have."

Spencer's grip tightens on Brendon's hips. "Maybe."

"Maybe my ass. Oooh, what do you think about when you jerk off? Do you think about my ass?"

Spencer pulls away, looking scandalized. "My mother's cooking us dinner right now," he says. "And yes. Sometimes."

Brendon laughs happily. "I think about yours, so we're even." He reaches up to toy with a strand of Spencer's hair. "I think about the sounds you make when I'm opening you up with my tongue, the way you can't stay quiet no matter how hard you try."

Spencer kisses him gently, then steps back. "I'm not getting a hard on when I need to go downstairs and make conversation with my mother."

"You're no fun," says Brendon.

"I'm lots of fun. I'm just...appropriate."

"Still no fun," says Brendon, then laughs as Spencer takes his hand and drags him back downstairs.

"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes," Mrs. Smith tells them once they get to the kitchen. "Spencer, sweetheart, set the table."

"What do you want me to do?" Brendon asks.

Mrs. Smith looks over at Spencer. Spencer shakes his head and says, "Mom."

"Spencer told me not to ask but, well, I'd love to hear you play. We've just got a little upright in the dining room, and of course you don't have to, but--"

"I'd love to," says Brendon. He sticks his head into the dining room and finds the old walnut upright against the far wall. He pulls the bench out and Spencer says, "You really, really don't have to."

"Just try to stop me," says Brendon with a grin.

Brendon plays a few scales to get the feel of the piano's action. It's a little out of tune, but nothing that will bother him too much. "Any requests?" he asks.

"Anything you'd like to play, dear," says Mrs. Smith.

Brendon closes his eyes and thinks for a moment, then begins to play. Everybody likes _Claire de Lune_, and it makes for good dinner music. He remembers learning it for the first time when he was eleven or twelve, remembers the smell of the piano varnish and resin, remembers the smell of his mother's perfume as she sat on the bench next to him, poking at his palms with a sharp pencil when he let his wrists drop. When he's finished he looks up and Mr. and Mrs. Smith are standing in the doorway watching him and Spencer's gazing at him tenderly.

"That was lovely, just..." Mrs. Smith takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "Thank you for that."

Brendon shrugs. Playing is just what he does; he never thinks of it as a favor for anyone else.

"You're kind of amazing," Spencer says with a soft smile.

"You've heard me play before," Brendon tells him.

"Yeah, but not. I've never watched you. It was like you were somewhere else. That's lame. I. I dont know."

"No," says Brendon. "It is kind of like that. My mom taught piano, taught me, and I was thinking about that while I was playing, the way it smelled in the living room where the piano was, the hours I spent as a kid playing the piano instead of playing outside. That sounds like it wasn't fun, but it was. I kind of love it a lot."

"It shows," says Mr. Smith.

Dinner's ready shortly thereafter, a vegetarian tortilla casserole that's one of the best homemade meals Brendon's ever had. Spencer wasn't kidding about the food thing, either, since Mrs. Smith encourages Brendon to have several helpings of casserole and broccoli and pasta salad, not to mention apple pie for dessert.

"I'd love to meet your parents," says Mrs. Smith as they all finish their pie, and Brendon shifts in his chair.

"Um, yeah," he says.

"Do they ever go to PFLAG meetings? Not that everyone needs to, of course, but it's such a nice thing to connect with other people who are interested in the same issues. We're working on overturning Prop 8 right now which, I know, is California, not Nevada, but we need to get our support for gay marriage out there, not let the fundamentalists and Mormons deny people basic human rights just because of their own prejudices."

Brendon purses his lips and looks down at his plate.

Spencer says, "Mom, maybe we should--"

"That church," says Mrs. Smith, "if you can even call it a church, well, to pour that sort of money into something that doesn't even have anything to do with them. What does it matter who gets married?"

"It's," Brendon says softly. "To them, it does matter."

Mrs. Smith puts her fork down and looks at Brendon quizzically.

"I'm not saying I agree with them," Brendon tells her. "I'm just saying that I understand. It's doctrine that marriage between a man and a woman is essential to being eternally united in the afterlife. It's ordained by God. Getting married isn't a choice, it's just..." He shrugs. "It's just what you do, what you have to do. When you grow up knowing, not just believing but _knowing_ that everything the church says is true, when you grow up _knowing_ that if you don't get married that you can never enter the Celestial Kingdom, that you'll be cut off from your family forever in a lower heaven..." He shrugs again.

"Brendon grew up Mormon, Mom," Spencer says softly.

Mrs. Smith covers her mouth with her hands. "Oh," she says. "Oh, I. I was so rude just then, wasn't I?"

"No," Brendon says, shaking his head.

"I was. Oh, I could kick myself."

"Hey," Brendon says softly. "You didn't say anything wrong, and I agree with you that everyone deserves the right to get married, just." He shrugs. "I grew up being fed those lies, and everyone is so sure. Everyone around you is so sure of everything that if there's not anything huge to shake things up, to make you look at things in a different way, it doesn't even occur to you to question things. I don't agree with them, but I get it."

"So, hey," says Spencer loudly. "Did I tell you that I think Ryan's in love with his assistant?"

"Greta?" Mrs. Smith asks. "Oh, she's a lovely girl."

"Wait," says Brendon. "Ryan's in love with Greta, too? I thought Greta was just in love with Ryan."

Spencer shrugs. "I think they're both retarded."

"Spencer," Mrs. Smith says disapprovingly. "You know better than to use derogatory language like that."

Spencer sighs heavily. "Fine. I think they're both mentally challenged."

Mrs. Smith frowns and Brendon catches Mr. Smith--Jim--smirking out of the corner of his eye.

"And on that note," says Spencer, "we need to head back to my place. I promised Jon I'd help him barbecue since when Ryan helps, he just gets in the way."

"You make sure Jon and Cassie both come over for dinner soon," Mrs. Smith says when they're on their way out the door. "And, oh, leftovers!"

She loads them down with things that Brendon's pretty sure she didn't even serve at dinner, not that he minds. He's a big fan of good food and is always willing to take things home that he won't have to prepare himself.

"I'm sorry about that," Spencer says on the drive back to his house. "The Mormon thing. She's just, she gets something stuck in her head--"

"You don't have to apologize," Brendon tells him. "She's got a good heart."

Spencer nods, seemingly pleased.

The party isn't half as big as the first one Brendon had been to at Ryan and Spencer's house. It's more of a small gathering than a party. Ryan's decorated the house in a casino theme and there's a banner above the garage proclaiming, "Welcome to Sin City Jon and Cassie!" but there's no one there that Brendon hasn't already met. Shane and Cassie are on the couch laughing about something and Alex is on the patio watching Jon barbecue and it feels a little bit like home when Spencer holds Brendon's hand on the way to the kitchen.

Brendon peers into the fridge and frowns when he sees all the grape and watermelon-flavored Smirnoff Ice. "Who the fuck's bitch pop is this?" he demands, pulling his head out of the fridge. He jumps when he sees Cassie. "Oh, shit," he says. "Sorry."

"Fuck you," Cassie says. "I don't drink Smirnoff Ice. Hey," she calls into the living room. "Who the fuck's Smirnoff Ice is this?"

"Mine," says Alex. "You can have some if you want."

Cassie laughs, then seems to realize that Alex is serious. "Um," she says. "Thanks, but I think I'll just, hey, whose Coors Light is this?"

"It's mine," says Spencer. "I got a case so Brendon and I could split it, but you can definitely have one."

"Right on," says Cassie.

"I refuse to talk to either one of you," Ryan says gravely, sipping his dark Belgian beer. "That isn't beer, it's a malted beverage with artificial flavors and colors. I don't even know how you can drink that."

"Because it's delicious," Brendon says brightly.

"Right on," says Spencer.

Ryan shakes his head. "I don't know how you're my best friend."

Spencer rolls his eyes. "Bitch acts like he didn't used to drink Boone's Farm warm right out of the bottle."

"Things you do when you're nineteen don't count," Ryan says. "And I only drank Boone's Farm once."

Spencer shakes his head from behind Ryan where he can't see. He mouths, "All the time," at Brendon.

"Can I have another Smirnoff Ice?" Alex asks. "Um, if there's any wild grape left. Is there any wild grape left?"

"I'm pretty sure your grape soda bitch pop is safe," Spencer says dryly, handing him a bottle.

"It's not bitch pop," Alex says. "It's made by Smirnoff, okay? That's quality. Besides, you drink Coors fucking Light so you have no room to talk."

"The infant has a point," says Ryan.

"He hates dark beer," Spencer tells Brendon. "Let's sit around drinking actually delicious beer and make him jealous."

"Hey, Coors Light," says a giant dude Brendon's never met before. "Ry, you down with me popping a few brewskis?"

"Are you sure you don't want _real_ beer?" Ryan asks seriously. "This is aged in wooden casks in a Belgian monastery."

"I'll take my beer fresh and American, thanks," says the huge guy. He pops open a beer and lounges against the counter, then looks around.

"Oh, Brendon," says Spencer. "This is Ryan's new assistant, Zack."

"Hey, little dude," says Zack, lifting his beer in salute.

"Hey," says Brendon. He can't picture Zack, who's got a tattoo of Jason Vorhees on his forearm, putting up with Ryan for very long.

"Who wants bacon burgers?" Jon calls from the patio.

Brendon wrinkles his nose at the thought of bacon. He can be around most meat, but there's something about the smell of bacon that makes him want to vomit. He puts his beer down and take's Spencer's hand. "You wanna show me those calendar proofs in your room?" he asks.

Spencer blinks at him a few times. "What? They're, um, they're at my office, actually, not in my--"

"Metaphor," Brendon whispers.

"Smooth," says Ryan, laughing into his beer.

"Calendar proofs, right," says Spencer, grinning at Brendon. "We should go look at those right now."

Brendon can hardly wait until Spencer's got the door shut until he's pulling his clothes off, tossing his gray button down to the floor and wriggling out of his jeans. "Naked," he tells Spencer as he crawls onto the bed.

Spencer's totally with the program, is peeling his shirt off as Brendon kicks the covers down towards the end of the bed.

"Hi," Spencer says as he climbs onto the bed next to Brendon. "So, um, all our friends totally know we're having sex right now."

"Do you care?" Brendon asks.

"Not really, no." He kisses Brendon's chest, nuzzles against his neck. "Seriously, you have no idea how much I wanted to fuck you tonight before dinner."

Brendon grins and runs his hands over Spencer's strong shoulders. "You can fuck me now," he says, sliding his leg up to rest against Spencer's hip.

Spencer lifts his head up and smiles so beautifully that Brendon forgets to breathe for a moment, then gets to it.

"Wanna go back to the party?" Spencer asks softly nearly an hour later as they lie stretched out in his bed.

"Do I ever?" Brendon asks. His skin is cooling down and he's thinking about grabbing the covers.

"Okay. Good." Spencer sighs and toys with Brendon's hair, kisses him gently over and over again. "I don't want to go to Costa Rica," he murmurs.

"When are you going to Costa Rica?" Brendon asks.

Spencer sighs. "Fuck. Tomorrow. I didn't tell you."

Brendon sits up. "No. You kind of forgot that."

"It's just for a couple of days," Spencer says, reaching up and rubbing his hand over Brendon's ribs. "I go out of town a lot. I don't usually forget to tell people, just..."

"You're not used to having to tell a boyfriend?" Brendon asks.

"No. Well, yeah, I'm not, but mostly I was freaked out about finding a replacement for Greta before I left. Seriously. It's only a few days. Are you pissed?"

Brendon's a little bummed that he won't get to spend the weekend in bed with Spencer, but he's not mad. "No. It's okay. I've got a shoot next week, too."

Spencer tenses a little bit. "Like, um...?"

"Little Alex's best friend, Cash, is doing his first guy on guy," Brendon explains.

"Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just. I don't know. I guess I don't really think about the site very much anymore. Like, I don't know."

"Seriously," Brendon says.

"It's like you, the real you, and the you on Shane's site, it's like you're two different people."

Brendon knows how Spencer means it, but all he can hear is his mother's voice in his head. "Does it bother you that I fuck other guys?" he asks.

Spencer runs his fingers through his hair. "How am I supposed to answer that?" he asks. "Like, do I care that my boyfriend is sleeping with other people? Yeah, I care. Did I know you did porn before we even met? Yeah, I knew. So, okay, I don't like it. I don't want you with anybody else, but I know you will be."

"So, what?" Brendon asks.

"What do you mean?"

"So you're just going to let me fuck other guys and not even try to stop me?"

Spencer lets out a frustrated breath. "Seriously, Brendon. What do you want me to say?"

"Just tell me the truth."

"I just fucking did."

"The actual truth. All of it."

"Fine," he snaps. "Fine. I want you to stop. Or quit. Or retire. Or whatever it's called. I don't want you to do the shoot next week. I don't want you to do another shoot ever again."

"You fucking knew what I did when we met!"

"I know that! I already _said_ that."

"What the actual fuck?" Brendon demands. "You knew damn well what I did and now you want me to change?"

"No," Spencer says.

"You just said you did."

"Why are you picking a fight?" Spencer asks.

"I'm not picking a fucking fight."

"I don't even know what we're fighting about."

"Just because we're dating doesn't mean you get to make my decisions for me," Brendon says, getting out of bed and tugging his jeans on. "That's fucked up. It's fucked up that all of a sudden you have issues with shit you knew I did in the first place."

"What's fucked up is you acting like I've wronged you somehow when I just answered a fucking question."

Brendon shakes his head and looks around for his shirt. "I don't know why I have to justify myself to you," he says.

"Because you're my boyfriend."

Brendon scoffs. "Not for long if you keep this shit up."

Spencer purses his lips and looks at Brendon for a long moment. "Fine," he says softly.

Brendon freezes. "What?"

"I said fine. I said if you want to break up then fine, we'll break up. I can't, like, hold you against your will and I'm not going to just sit here and let you lose your fucking shit over nothing. It's nothing, Brendon. It's not even, seriously. Seriously, I have no clue why we're even fighting right now."

Brendon pulls his shirt on and keeps his head down. He doesn't know what to say. He's never even thought about breaking up with Spencer, but he can't make himself take it back. "Fine," he says.

He can feel Spencer's eyes on him but he doesn't turn around.

"Fine," Spencer says again.

Brendon's not going to cry. He's pissed. He's fucking pissed off at Spencer. The fact that he doesn't know why he's pissed off at Spencer doesn't matter. He stalks downstairs and when he sees Shane he says, "Take me home."

"What?" Shane asks, mouth full of chocolate chip cookies. "Why?"

"Just take me home. Please." He heads outside and ignores the stares of everyone else at the party. By the time Shane and Alex follow him outside, he's started to shake.

"What happened?" Alex asks softly as Shane unlocks the car.

Brendon doesn't answer, just climbs into the back seat and curls up as small as he can make himself. The drive is silent, the radio turned low, and neither Alex nor Shane say anything until Brendon chokes back a sob and Alex says, "Jesus, Brendon," and climbs into the backseat.

"Driving!" Shane cries as Alex's long legs knock against his shoulder. "I'm actively driving, here!"

"What happened?" Alex asks, curling up next to Brendon in the backseat and pulling him into a hug. Brendon doesn't say anything, just buries his face in Alex's hair and lets himself cry.

Alex puts himself on Brendon watch and spends the next few days constantly by Brendon's side. It would be annoying if it wasn't so endearing. Shane tries to console Brendon the best he knows how, but he's so happy with Alex that sometimes Brendon feels better off just sulking in his room.

One morning, Brendon stretches, then rolls over towards the other side of the bed. He slides his arm over Spencer's hips to pull him close, then wonders when the hell Spencer got so damn bony. The hipbone against his palm is nearly razor sharp.

He opens his eyes and Ryan's grinning sleepily back at him. "Your bed's comfortable," Ryan tells him.

Brendon blinks a few times. "Why are you here?" he asks.

Ryan yawns and shrugs. "Everybody else I know has slept with you and I was feeling a little left out."

"You're not even gay!" Brendon cries. "And also, shut up." He shoves Ryan hard, tumbling him out of bed.

"Ow," says Ryan from the floor. "That was more violent than it had to be."

"You called me a _whore_."

Ryan sits up and peers over the top of Brendon's mattress. "No, I didn't. I said that everybody else I know has already slept with you, and that's pretty much true. Jon, Spencer, Shane, and, well. That's it."

"See? You only know three people who've slept with me."

"I only know three people," Ryan counters. "Anyway." He climbs back into Brendon's bed and snuggles down beneath the covers. "I just came over to tell you that you're retarded."

Brendon huffs and rolls his eyes. "You can go back to Spencer and tell him I don't need him sending people on errands for him."

"Oh, he doesn't know I'm here," Ryan says. "He'd kill me. Or he'd try to kill me but he'd fail because despite the way he sometimes looks like a cat you just dropped in a bathtub, he's not actually violent. He is actually retarded, though, especially about you."

Brendon rolls his eyes.

"Seriously."

"If he's too pussy to come over here and tell me that himself, he can fuck off," says Brendon. "I'm sick of this shit. I'm sick of people telling me to give him a second chance. Alex made me do it the first time, and it turned out really fucking shitty and people just need to stay out of our business."

"Oh, I wasn't here to tell you to give him a second chance," Ryan says. "Just to tell you that you're both retarded. I thought it would only be fair for you to know."

"How did you even get in?" Brendon asks, squinting at the clock.

"You left the bathroom window unlocked."

"You broke into my house?"

"I already said the window was unlocked. It's not my fault I'm svelte enough to fit through the opening. Also, I think I totally scared the shit out of that longhaired kid. He was huddled in the corner of the bathroom on his phone. I'm not sure what that's about. You should maybe look into it. Or not. Do you have any waffles?"

"No," says Brendon. "Go home and let me sleep."

"But Greta won't be back for another half an hour," he tells Brendon.

"She actually came back to work for you?"

"Oh," says Ryan happily. "No. She said she wouldn't work for me again if her life depended on it, and then I asked her out. Not just because I like it when she drives me around, even though I do, mostly I just asked her out because she's my Greta. Do you want to drive me home?"

"No."

"Okay," Ryan says. He shuts his eyes. "I'll let you get back to sleep, then."

Brendon eyes him warily for a while, then sighs and figures he might as well just go back to sleep. When he wakes, Ryan's gone, and when he gets up, Alex is in the living room telling Shane, "...I was just in the bathroom talking to Cash, so I didn't wake you up, and then all of a sudden this leg is sliding through the window and there's Spencer's friend in, like, a three-piece suit saying hello like it's totally normal to come in through somebody's bathroom window."

Shane looks a little concerned, so Brendon butts in with, "He just came over to tell me that I'm retarded."

"Well, we know that," says Shane.

Alex purses his lips and looks sad. He still wants Brendon and Spencer to work out, but he's been really good about not pressing the point or, like, kidnapping either one of them.

"Is Cash nervous?" Brendon asks. The shoot for _Cash's First Oral_ is that afternoon.

"He's totally terrified," Alex says. "But I'm not supposed to tell anybody, so pretend you don't know."

"Terrified of touching another guy's dick or terrified that he won't be good?" Brendon asks. The first fear is pretty much a deal breaker; the second fear is pretty typical.

"That he won't be good," Alex says. "I told him he'd be fine. I told him he'd be with you." He looks over at Shane. "It's hard for me, too," tells Brendon. "Like, knowing that Shane spends his days surrounded by guys hotter than me."

Shane reaches out and touches Alex's shoulder. "Baby," he says softly.

"No, it's okay. Like, I know that it's your job. Just. I understand where Spencer's coming from."

Brendon sighs and shakes his head. He has to shower and get ready.

After Brendon's showered and shaved and trimmed and prepped and, seriously? How could anybody think it wasn't a job, the way the actors have to take forever getting their bodies ready for a shoot? After he's showered and changed, he drives over to Summerlin, to Shane's porno mansion, where he stretches out in the dressing rooms next to Gabe, who's naked and reading the paper.

"I didn't even know you had a shoot today," Brendon says, changing out of his street clothes into the more frat-boy looking cargo shorts and flip-flops and polo shirt that he'll be wearing at the beginning of the shoot.

"I don't," says Gabe. Brendon considers asking him then why he's there, why he's naked, but he decides not to. Sometimes Gabe just likes to be naked, and anybody who questions him about it is liable to get a good twenty minutes of Gabe's outrage at society about the shame people are supposed to feel when they're naked and the way that the human body is totally normal and awesome and everybody should be naked all the time, weather conditions permitting.

It's not that it's even something Brendon disagrees with, since he does like to be naked and he does agree that the way society views the human body as something intrinsically dirty is fucked up. He just doesn't feel like getting into the whole thing with Gabe when he has to focus on his shoot.

Cash is an okay looking kid. He's a little rougher around the edges than most of Shane's actors, but Brendon gets it. He's kind of got that maybe-bicurious, maybe-just-rough-trade thing going that so many guys find hot, and the tattoos definitely help with that.

"Hey," Cash says when he sees Brendon. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. "So, um, I tried to get Alex to come to the shoot but he's being a little bitch. Something about privacy and not wanting to see our dicks or whatever." He shrugs and looks off to the side, like maybe if he acts aloof nobody will be able to tell that he's nervous.

Brendon bumps his shoulder against Cash's, says, "Come on, sit down," and pats the bed as Shane sets up the cameras and checks lighting levels. "So, the trick, really, is to not worry about anything."

"I'm not worried," Cash says with a quick grin.

"Seriously. It's just sex. And anything weird can be edited out later. So don't feel like you have to be one thing or another, that you have to know what the fuck is going on. It's just sex and it should be fun and hopefully we'll both have a good time and then, you know, get to have orgasms."

Cash nods and smiles a little bit. "Yeah," he says, nodding. "Yeah, okay."

"Seriously, Brendon," Shane says from behind the camera. "You need to stop getting started without me. You know how much people love to watch the pre-scene conversations."

Brendon shrugs and knows that the smile he flashes Shane is totally fake. He was telling Cash not to worry in part to remind himself not to worry. It's been a while since he's done a shoot; it's been since he and Jon were in a scene together. He knows it's not like he can get rusty or anything, but sitting there looking at Cash, looking at Shane and the secondary camera crew and the lighting and the straight porn set up in the corner for Cash to be able to see, he kind of misses Spencer. It's retarded to compare the two, his job and his boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, but still.

The shoot goes okay. It's not the best blowjob Brendon's ever given, but it's all right. He never looses himself in it, not like he used to. He never just closes his eyes and forgets everything except the feel of cock on his tongue, Cash's fingers in his hair. He gets to the point where Cash loses his veneer of control, gets Cash to the point where he's no longer freaked out about getting his dick sucked by a guy and is just moaning and thrusting up into Brendon's mouth, but he's not as proud of it as he used to be.

After the shoot is over, after he's showered and they've taken some stills and teaser shots for the site, Brendon curls up in Shane's office on his big, black leather couch. He doesn't doubt the fact that Shane's fucked little Alex on the couch before, but he chooses not to think about it. He thinks about how amazingly comfortable the couch is instead.

"Sorry about that," he says dully when Shane enters his office half an hour later.

Shane looks up from the papers in his hands. "Hey. I thought you went home."

Brendon shrugs.

Shane sits down on the end of the couch and pats Brendon's legs.

"The scene sucked," says Brendon.

"It really didn't."

"I wasn't into it. It was like I wasn't really there."

Shane sighs. "I know."

"It wasn't fun. That's fucked up, right? It's always fun."

"Not always," Shane tells him. "Sometimes it's not fun at all. For some of the guys, it's never fun the way it was fun for you. For some of the guys it's just a job that's maybe kind of weird but they're into for whatever reason."

Brendon thinks about that for a moment. "I liked it better when it was fun. How am I not having fun sucking cock? You know how much I love to suck cock."

"You've never made a video when you had a serious boyfriend before, either," Shane points out.

"I don't have a serious boyfriend."

"You did."

Brendon sighs. "How did this happen?" he asks. "How can I not love making porn?"

"I don't know," Shane says. "How the fuck did I end up with this?" He shows Brendon his left hand. He's wearing a plain silver band on his ring finger. "It's a promise ring which, I don't know. I think maybe we're engaged?"

Brendon takes Shane's hand and looks at his ring. "Alex gave you a _promise ring_?" He can help but laugh. "Dude. That's so awesome. Did he save up money from his paper route to buy it for you?"

"I don't know, maybe?" Shane says. "That's not the point. The point is, Brendon, that I'm wearing a fucking ring that tells the entire world that I am with one person and one person only, and I'm down with that. I am totally okay with never having sex with anyone but Alex ever again. And, well, maybe with another guy if we decide to have a threesome, but you get my point. Life changes and we change and this is fucked up, me wearing a promise ring, but here I am."

"You're not mad that the shoot sucked?"

Shane shakes his head. "The shoot didn't suck, Brendon. You just weren't...you. You just weren't into it."

"I think maybe I really should take a break. I'm sorry."

Shane shakes his head. "Don't be. It's not like you ever wanted to do this forever. You want to do _music_ forever, this is just your sideline."

Brendon nods. Despite the classes and the practicums and the rehearsals, he sometimes forgets that. He decides it's not something he should ever forget again.

On the drive home from the shoot, he vows to throw himself into school. It is what he loves, after all, and it'll take his mind off of Spencer.

He spends nearly the entire next day in one of the practice rooms and his arms and hands and back are aching. He thinks he's going to take a hot shower and then melt into the couch, but when he pulls into the driveway, Spencer's sitting on the front porch.

Brendon pauses after getting out of his car. He thinks he should be pissed, but he just aches seeing Spencer, who's a little rumpled and sunburned.

"So," says Spencer. "When you're hanging out in the tropics with your camera, just spending days waiting for a really good photograph to come along, you've got a lot of time to think."

"Okay," says Brendon.

"And I think the last time we talked? We were having two different conversations. I don't know who the fuck you were fighting with, but it wasn't me."

Brendon rubs his arms like he's cold, even though the weather's still warm. "Okay," he says.

Spencer looks at him for a long moment. "That's all you have to say?" he asks.

"I may have been taking my issues with my parents out on you."

Spencer nods.

"My mom maybe said the same thing you did, that I was two different people, her little Brendon and then, you know, me. The real me, the gay one who doesn't believe in God. And I was maybe a huge dick to you."

Spencer nods.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Spence."

Spencer purses his lips. "Don't do it again," he says.

"I get a second chance?" Brendon asks, trying not to sound too hopeful.

"I'm kind of crazy about you," Spencer admits. "And I don't know. You have to talk to me next time something like that happens, actually talk to me instead of just flipping out. Do you think you can do that?"

Brendon nods, then moves forward and pulls Spencer into a hug. "I really hate fighting with you," he whispers against Spencer's neck. "And I'm crazy about you, too."

Spencer squeezes him tight and Brendon sighs against his skin.

"You should come inside," Brendon tells him. "You look tired and I'm exhausted. We should sleep."

Spencer nods. "I came straight here from the airport. I didn't want to lose my nerve."

Brendon laces their fingers together and the house is blissfully quiet and free of any Shane and Alex shenanigans when they go inside. They get undressed and curl up in Brendon's bed, and before they fall asleep, Brendon leans forward to kiss the tip of Spencer's sunburned nose.


End file.
